Barbed Wire Fences
by Vicious Ventriloquist
Summary: L/OC, fem!OC. An entire continent lies abandoned by the rest of the world, its inhabitants left to rot in a land terrorized by those afflicted with a debilitating neurological illness. A deranged serial killer flees there, seeking to carry out his sinister plans. The fate of all rests with one detective. But to save anyone, he may need some help from one of the surviving locals...
1. The Filter on the Shelf

**Author's Note: Hello there. I am Vicious Ventriloquist. I've always been a fan of LxOC, so I decided to give this story a try. It is somewhat post-apocalyptic, so be warned.**

**I took liberties with the identities of almost all of the canon characters, except for L, who is still a detective (and Watari). Also, this is set in Los Angeles, and is a somewhat...interesting re-imagining of the BB murder cases. **

**There will be lemon(s) eventually, so stay tuned for that.**

**Warnings for this chapter: Violence, profanity, angst. It will get worse as time goes on.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Filter on the Shelf**

_There are many different theories on what—or where—Hell is. Some say it is in the deepest, hottest, darkest pits of the Earth—the Underworld._

_Others believe that it is cold and unforgiving, a veritable wasteland of painful memories and past sufferings._

_And still others will swear that Hell is simply Earth itself, wrapped up in a nice, clean, unthreatening package. The last one is probably the closest to the truth._

_Or, at least, it used to be._

* * *

The sun was setting over the horizon. The air temperature had begun to drop rapidly, becoming less humid and smothering. Even so, the young girl still felt too hot in her thick coat as she watched the blazing star disappear. From her backyard, the sight was almost overwhelming. The natural beauty of it astounded her; her large dark eyes popped wide with wonder.

A few feet behind the child there stood a bespectacled man with a goatee. His full head of hair was barely beginning to gray around the edges, the once-brown color fading into a pleasant peppered hue. The early signs of crow's feet gave him the air of a wizened prophet. As he watched the young girl, his features conveyed a sense of peace and satisfaction.

"Daddy," the girl said in a high-pitched voice, "why does the sun go away every day?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Because he has somewhere else to be, sweetheart."

"But why?" the girl whined, craning her neck to stare at her father. "Why can't he stay here with us all the time? Why does he have to go?"

With a heavy sigh, the large man came forward, kneeling beside his daughter. He placed his calloused hand on her delicate shoulder. "If the sun stayed with us all the time, we would all burn up eventually."

The child's eyes nearly burst out of her skull. "Really?" she gasped in shock. This elicited a small chuckle from the man.

"Really, Lana. The sun is bright and helps sustain life, but if there was too much of it we couldn't survive."

The little girl thought about it for a moment, then huffed and crossed her arms over her chest in a display of petulant childishness. "Well, I don't care if I survive or not. I'd rather see the sun all the time and burn up with it!"

"Never say that, Lana." Her father's voice suddenly took on a stern tone, and she looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. His mouth was pinched in a tight line. "Never throw your life away for such a pointless wish. You have to learn to take things as they are. The moment you start wishing for things to be different is the moment that you will never be happy with anything else. Do you understand?"

Dumbstruck, the girl nodded timidly. Her father's eyes softened, and they both looked back to the sinking sun; it was very nearly dark now, the only current light source that which was produced by the moon and stars. The soft blue light cast parts of their faces in shadow, while other patches of skin were illuminated with an unusually pale white glow.

The man spoke again.

"There is nothing more important to me in this world than you and your mother, Lani." The girl's familiar nickname relaxed her greatly—she had feared momentarily that her father was angry with her. "Above all else, I want you to survive. No matter what happens, you have to push through it. You are strong, Lana—you have to survive."

Survive…

The current scene twitched suddenly, as if it were an old film reel on a broken projector. The girl felt scared, and lost—something was wrong.

Heat. Wetness. The pungent metallic odor of blood was palpable, violating her nose—her own blood. Or was it her father's blood?

_"Now, Lana! Go!" _

The sound of something sharp cutting into flesh penetrated her ears.

_"He's dead, sweetheart…"_

_ "Survive, Lana! Just survive!" _

Heavy breathing…a small figure lying collapsed on the floor.

The sudden quiet that followed had never been more welcome.

* * *

The woman shot straight up out of her cot, beads of milky sweat sliding lazily off of her chest and forehead. Her dark hair clung strangely to the back of her neck; she felt sticky, constricted, and faintly sick.

She had no idea why she had been dreaming about her father again. That particular memory had been especially old—she was fairly certain she had only been six years old at the time. She hadn't dreamt about that conversation in years. When everything had first gone to shit, it had bothered her nearly every sleepless night for months. After a while, it had stopped.

So why was she suddenly dreaming about it now? Wait; what the hell was she doing thinking about this? She didn't want to dredge up any negative feelings about this right now—not ever. She quickly cast all thoughts of her late father from her mind.

Catching her ragged breath, the woman threw off her scant bed sheets, surveying the darkened room. It was empty, based on what she could make out from the top layer of a set of bunk beds. The other bunks in the room were empty; her roommates had evidently all gone downstairs before her.

_What time is it?_ she thought tiredly. Her sore eyes flitted to the wooden shelf, which protruded from the wall a few inches above her cot. On it perched an old Brita filter; it had originally been designed so that the top half gradually dripped water into the second layer though a screen. The lower portion was marked with twenty-four lines, one for each hour, according to how much the meniscus of the water rose every sixty minutes. A perfect makeshift clock, given the fact that technology—particularly electricity—was scarce these days. Every day, the water from the bottom half was re-poured into the top, though every now and then more had to be added to account for evaporation. It wasn't entirely wasteful, though—the water she used was always dirty and unfit for human consumption. This in turn helped to make the design more convenient—on top of the filter itself, there was also a fine layer of mud and silt, which slowed the progress of the liquid. As a result, less water had to be used to count each hour.

But at the moment, the woman's attention was more drawn to the water level than to the distinctly brown hue of the liquid.

"For fuck's sake," she rasped out angrily. Catapulting off of the bunk and landing on her bare feet, the woman narrowly missed knocking her head on the other bunk; the room itself wasn't very big, and had only a small, partially boarded up window. _Five o'clock and it's still dark as all Hell_, she thought, pacing to a dilapidated cabinet near the narrow doorway. She pulled it open, looking for her own shelf. It was marked with her middle name: Emerson. Here, that's all she was. A name—and it wasn't even her first name. Her full name—before all of the country was condemned to become a hellish pit—had been Lana Emerson Turk.

But that hardly mattered anymore.

With a resigned sigh, Lana grabbed a bundle of dark cloth from her shelf. She threw the black wife beater on over her sports bra, leaving on the tattered gray sweatpants she was already wearing. Quite frankly, she didn't much care what she looked like; on one else did.

Lana swiftly slipped on a pair of sandals before flinging open the door and emerging into an equally dark hallway. She made a sharp turn right and kept walking to the very end of the hallway, to the "bathroom," as the others called it. The way Lana saw it, it was little more than a stained tile room with a mirror, off-white bathtub, and toilet that had long since stopped working. In all honesty, Lana thought it gave off the eerie appearance of a place where someone might harvest your kidney. The only thing it was good for was a minute amount of personal hygiene—in other words, dressing or draining the occasional wound. The tub, Lana knew from experience, could hold a good amount of blood.

But for right now, Lana didn't need the tub.

She stood in front of the mirror, her hands and eyes firmly attached to the sink. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to bring herself to stare into her own reflection. And, just like every other day since Lana's "accident," she felt a small jolt before she recognized herself.

The left side of her face wasn't inherently bad-looking—tanned, smooth skin, accentuated by thin red lips and a dark brown eye that looked as if it had no pupil. Her nose was perfectly straight, with only a faint scar as a testament to its once-broken state. Her sharp cheekbones and strong jaw were framed by straight, dark hair. Average. Normal. But the right side of her face…that was the side that made people do a double take, and cringe when they realized that no, they weren't hallucinating, there was no trick of the light.

It was just a scarred face.

The long, crooked scar started at the skin below Lana's right eye, on the far side of her cheek. From there, it went all the way through her eye and up to her eyebrow, leaving a grotesque trail behind in its wake. The affected eye was perpetually swollen, mangled, and very nearly blind—Lana only ever saw dark blobs through it. Where the scar cut through it, the iris was broken, a cloudy film over it that had long since taken the place of the bloody mess it once was. And, shockingly enough, it wasn't dark like her left eye. It was blue—pale blue, almost to the point of beauty were it not for the swollen, pink skin and prominent scar around it.

It was, as someone so often delicately confessed to Lana, "Fuckin' gross."

The rest of her body, at least, was far above average. Her muscles were toned and obvious, but not overly bulky. She was thin and lithe in appearance, with average height, but her stomach was tight and showed her abdominal muscles somewhat when she flexed. Lana had spent more than half of her life training, most notably in mixed martial arts classes; Muay Thai had been one of her favorites.

Before everything had happened, she had weighed much more than many of her friends—despite being of almost the same height. Her 152 pounds of weight was mostly muscle, for her breasts were merely normal-sized, as were her hips and ass. She had to be in good shape in order to make her living. Lana, like many others who lived in the world she did, had to do many despicable things in order to survive.

Cage fighting was just one of those things. After all, Lana had found, in a world where death and uncertainty were at every corner, people would still live for two things: sex and violence. In times of fear and crisis, the most basic compulsions of humanity always won out over logic and reason. Lana understood that very well: that was how she lived.

Of course, she didn't have to savor it. Depression and a hideous amount of anger seemed, at times, to overwhelm her, especially when she fought. Her instincts and training would kick in. In the cage, she was able to let go of all the mind-numbing terror and hatred she felt at the world, and instead focus it all on the person across from her. How many arms had she broken by trapping people in arm-bars? How many faces and knuckles had she fractured and bloodied—even her own? How much of her own humanity had she really lost?

The only thing she could take comfort in was the fact that she had never actually killed anyone.

With one last grimace at the mirror, Lana exited the bathroom to start another day.

* * *

"Give me the bottle!"

"Cunt, if you don't get outta mah face I'll smash your goddamn teeth in—"

A resounding _smash_ greeted Lana as she entered the crowded kitchen, broken glass tinkling as it rained down around her feet. _Thank God I wore shoes today_.

Two women stood in the open space between the grimy counter and grill, a pool of amber liquid spreading at their feet. It looked to Lana like they had been fighting over a half-empty tequila bottle, and she wasn't surprised when she saw who they were. Takada was obviously the one who yelled first; she tended to clash frequently with the others, a fact which was no secret to anyone there. Her tall, lean body and snide smirks practically screamed uppity, and she wasn't above packing heat. She had even stabbed one of her opponents in the bicep in a recent bout—but the second woman was the closest thing Lana had to a friend in this hellhole.

Her name was Itzel Shankman: she was a short, stocky, butch woman. Although she was an alcoholic in her own right (and a smoker to boot), she tended not to pick fights with people unless they had messed with her first—as Takada was now doing.

As Lana watched, Itzel's eyes turned deadly, her big nose scrunching up in fury.

"You fucking cheat. I should finish you!"

"As if you would." Takada reached out and harshly shoved Itzel into the counter, the large woman's hips hitting the tiles with a hollow crack. Lana's fingers itched to dig themselves into Takada's throat, but she held herself stock-still; if there was one rule among the fighters, it was this: You do not fight anyone else's battles.

So Lana sat down at the circular wood table near the door, which was currently occupied by three other women—and watched Itzel explode. Faster than a snap of the fingers, Itzel grabbed Takada's shoulders, smashing their faces together in a vicious head butt that caused scarlet blood to come spurting out of Takada's nose. A faint crack could be heard as the woman's head snapped back, and a growl emanated from her throat. Her eyes betrayed a modicum of shock; it was rare to see anyone, even Itzel, push back against her. "You—"

Just as the two were about to go at it again, a deadly silken voice, as smooth as honey, cut through the chaos. "Ladies, please! You should save that hostility for the actual fights, don't you think?"

A man stepped into the room, prim and proper in a dress suit. His hair was golden brown, as were his eyes. Everything about him was gorgeous, almost Athenian. Light Yagami. The so-called proprietor of the cage-fighting ring was also the most beautiful person in a hundred-mile radius.

And he nearly made Lana's blood boil. He continued talking.

"Now, Piper, why don't you go reset Takada's nose? We wouldn't want her to look anything but flawless before she fights tonight." Piper, a curly-haired blonde woman, stood up from the table and led Takada, who was still fuming and gushing blood onto the floor, out of the kitchen. Light's soft, smiling demeanor quickly shifted into one of unrestrained fury as his eyes focused in on Itzel. His muscles tensed as if getting ready to attack. "Shankman, we've talked about this how many times?"

"Can't quite remember, Yagami," Itzel tilted her head upwards, a prideful gleam in her eyes. "May've been drunk more than a couple a times you talked to me." Lana resisted the urge to guffaw, instead opting to bite down on her knuckles.

Light's lips pulled back into a harsh sneer. "Well, then, allow me to reiterate." He stepped all the way up to Itzel, his gaze piercing into hers. She refused to move an inch. "You. Don't. Break. Her. Nose. Before. A. Fight. I give you a place to sleep and a steady source of income, but you have to follow _my_ rules. That was the agreement. I understand that the two of you don't like each other, but you continually insist on aggravating her. You mess up like this one more time, I will _end_ you."

And with that, Light's well-polished figure (God knows how he kept _that_ up) swept out of the kitchen, leaving Lana with no doubt that he meant what he said. Her veins turned icy for a moment; when Light said he was going to end someone…he usually meant it literally. Her mind started to drift back to the last time that he had said that to someone…but then he called back once more:

"And wash yourselves off when you're done eating."

Itzel gave a grunt and shook her head after he was gone, pulling a cigarette out from within her knappy hair. She sauntered over to the table, and sat down next to Lana. Pulling an old matchbook and a bag of peanuts out of the waistband of her loose shorts, she looked around the table at the other girls before shaking her head again and lighting her cigarette. "Fucker," she said, blowing a cloud of smoke in Light's previous direction. "That _bitch_ deserved it."

"'Course she did," Lana yawned, stretching her arms up to the ceiling before bringing them to rest behind her head. "But you know Yagami's fucking her. He doesn't want her pretty little face all jacked up."

"Yeah, you better watch out," one of the other girls, Gen, said in a low voice. "He don't like when ya mess with _Cacada._"

"What do I care? Let him turn her around then, do her in the ass for once."

The women at the table all snickered. It was common knowledge that Light Yagami, kingpin of Waterfront Inn &amp; Casino—which is what the building was called before he took it and turned it into a cage-fighting ring—and Takada had sex on a regular basis. Lana had heard them going at it in an old supply closet upstairs more than a few times. Or, more accurately, heard Takada. The man kept as quiet as a mouse; Lana didn't think she had ever seen someone so sexually repressed before. She only knew it was him because she once saw them both walking by her door within a few minutes of each other, Light buttoning up his suit as he walked by. But he had absolutely no facial expression or signs of flushed skin—something which Lana found incredibly disturbing.

_Asshole…_

Lana was jerked out of her thoughts by a pair of dark fingers snapping themselves in front of her good eye. "Yo, Emerson. You with us?"

Itzel and the two others—Rowan and Gen—had already stood up, ready to go get washed up at the lake.

"You gonna come with us? Might as well get all washed up before the sun comes out to say fuck you. And here." The large woman slid the bag of peanuts to her across the table. "You didn't eat anythin'."

Lana felt one corner of her mouth turn slightly upwards as she stood up to go with them, slipping the bag into her pocket. They headed outside through the kitchen's side door, pausing only to grab four surgical masks to cover their noses and mouths.

Safety always came first.

As they stepped outside, a gust of warm air blew Lana's hair away from her face. It couldn't have been later than six o'clock—just another ghastly summer day in Los Angeles, Lana thought bitterly. The four women emerged onto an old cracked sidewalk, littered with old chunks of cobbled cement, urine, and blood. As they walked, the morning clouds overhead loomed ominously, the remnants of sunlight barely poking through the dark expanse. The streets were empty, the buildings mostly boarded up with wooden planks—people were most likely squatting in there. Anyone who could be seen outside was either unconscious, dead, or drugged out to the point of _looking_ dead. Lana even saw one corpse as they wandered past an old trashcan.

It was an old man, with receding gray hair that left exposed the old wrinkled skin and tan complexion. His eyes were open, still wide and red with fear. As Lana's eyes wandered downwards, she made out a dark crimson stain on his chest. His hands were flopped haphazardly over it, as if still trying to staunch the bleeding. A stab wound. Lana felt her own eye throb for a moment before forcing herself to look away. There was no point in feeling guilty—it was probably just a mugging gone wrong anyway. Either that, or one of the crazies had gotten him.

Gradually, the presence of buildings became less and less common until eventually the only thing that the women could see was a nearby body of water some distance off the side of the road. It was an old lake; the only source of bath water around here that anyone had, since the old city reservoirs were still being used for drinking water. Lana herself wouldn't consider the lake clean by a long shot—the water was murky and smelled vaguely of sewage. But it was a far better alternative than using fresh water and dying of dehydration. If Lana had to choose between smelling like crap or dying of thirst, she'd go for the smelly snatch any day of the week. At least it rinsed the grime off of her.

She would never put it in her hair, though. She had dry shampoo for that back in her room.

Lana removed her clothes and placed them on the ground beside the lake, putting the package of peanuts on top. She stuck one toe into the cool water, and was about to go in further when she felt a rough tap on her shoulder. Turning around, the young woman caught a glimpse of Itzel smiling crookedly at her through the mask, pulling a bar of soap out of her removed shorts and handing it to the taller girl. "For you, girly. Picked it up three days ago from some guy back home." The brown woman tossed two other bars to Rowan and Gen, who both gave hearty whoops as they ditched their torn garments. Lana's mouth fell open in surprise.

"Itzel…what the hell? What did you trade for this?" Lana felt her throat constrict, and a small smile tugged at her mouth.

"Just a cup of water. I still got some left over."

Lana's eyes narrowed. She felt a sudden wave of anger and guilt. "Itzel…you shouldn't be giving away water like that. Especially for other people—"

"Look, girl, I'm just doin' you a favor. Row and Gen are happy." The two girls were busy lathering their bodies with the soap bars, looking as if they thought it was Christmas morning.

"Yeah, but I give a shit about you, Itzel. I don't want you to run out of water."

"I'm givin' you the damn soap because of what you did for me." Lana flinched, and Itzel's voice softened. "I wanna pay you back one day…but you just care too much, lady."

"Wouldn't be me if I didn't."

The other woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "No…no, you wouldn't."

Snapping out of whatever mood she was in, she gave Lana a quick punch to her shoulder. "Now hurry the fuck up. We gotta get back soon." She brushed past Lana, wading deeper into the water. "And wash out that eye with some clean water when you get back. That thing's fuckin' gross."

A laugh nearly wrenched its way out of Lana's throat in response to Itzel's familiar brusqueness. Looking down at the soap in her fingers, she felt a frown invade her face as she tore open the wrapper and let it fall from her hands. Actual bar soap was a rare treasure to come by these days; the only way one could get it was by taking it from an old abandoned shop (all of which had already been mostly cleared out after the first week) or trading something else for it whenever a wandering trader came by Waterfront. You could always tell who they were, too: they most always wore a cloth tied around their mouth and nose, and a gun hung loosely at their side as protection for the bag of necessities they carried on their backs. Lana sighed, redirecting her attention to the moment at hand.

Holding the floral bar tightly in her hand, she slowly rubbed the soap all over her arms, neck, and torso; she lifted up each of her legs and ran the suds all over herself, relishing in the feeling of finally being _clean_.

Lana closed her eyes, picturing herself in her old apartment; in a sterile bathroom instead of a dirty, diseased lake.

For the first time in a long while, the scarred woman pretended that she was normal.

* * *

**This is, of course, somewhat confusing. But don't worry, I plan to put in flashbacks so that everyone knows what the hell happened. Bear with me.**

**ALSO, if I don't get any reviews, I probably won't continue this; I have an urgent need to know what people think of my writing. If no one reviews it, I'll just assume no one likes it. Or maybe I'll continue it anyway. We'll see. **

**Thank you for reading.**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	2. White Tents & Black Goggles

**Author's Note: First of all, I would like to send a shout-out to my first reviewers, WhiteLadyDragon and WildfireDreams. Thank you for the feedback; I will definitely keep it in mind. (And I'm glad you like my OC.) **

**Please enjoy this new chapter, which, as promised, contains flashbacks. **

**Warnings: Violence, Angst, Profanity. You have been warned.**

**Now enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: White Tents &amp; Black Goggles**

_Seven years earlier…_

* * *

_No one really knows what caused it. _

_ Of course, all the country's most efficient doctors and medical researchers said it was a "terrible disease" that was caused by a virus—but not one could tell us where it came from or how to stop it. By the time it became apparent that something was very, very wrong, it was too late. They started looking for a vaccine—but it was already past that point. It was now a game of survival. _

_ At first, before the outbreak, it was just one of those freak things on the evening news._

_ "Good evening, America, and welcome to the ten o'clock news. Reports of a strange happening in Boston have led to increased police activity…a local man apparently suffered what appeared to be a mental breakdown and viciously attacked six different pedestrians, killing two and wounding three before being shot dead by the local police…"_

_ People go insane and kill each other all the time, so no one thought much of it. _

_ But then it started spreading. _

_ "Breaking news: new cases of what look like sudden and complete mental breakdowns are being reported in Manhattan, Newport, and several other major cities and towns in the northeast…" _

_Now people were starting to get scared, some believing that there was a full-scale epidemic of insanity infecting the entire country. _

_ And that's when the news got out. _

_ "The surgeon general has reported that, based on autopsies performed on the deceased bodies of the victims, a virus is definitely associated with the erratic behavior…the viral infection seems to be concentrated in the brain and lungs of the host, primarily the region of the brain known as the amygdala, one of the key areas for controlled fear and aggression…swelling of the brain and lung infection also occurred prior to death, a condition which may have caused vivid hallucinations and eventual coughing and shortness of breath…the surgeon general is also reporting that, yes, the disease is airborne, you can get it form sharing the same air as an infected victim…he advises everyone to stay indoors and quarantine any infected family members. If you go outside, wear a mask and do so at your own risk…" _

_ They even gave it a name. Pneumonic Hallucinatory Disease, or PHD for short. I was scared shitless when I found out what we were facing—it was as if any zombie movie I had ever seen had suddenly come to be. _

_ And after two weeks of the disease continuing to spread, the general public, ignoring the pleas for calm that the government broadcast called for, began to panic. People I had known for years no longer wanted to see me or even speak with me. They barricaded themselves in their homes and community centers, not letting anyone in or out, not even answering their phones. _

_ Then, not even three days after a second warning broadcast, human nature reared its ugly head. The streets became dangerous. I could look out the window of my parents' BMW wherever we went and see people looting stores and stealing other peoples' supplies right out of their hands. _

_ Chaos, the greedy bastard, engulfed the city. Within three months, the banks closed, as did the post office, city hall, and courthouses. The hospitals were being run around the clock as always, but with limited success. Many doctors, nurses, and other regular staff had either quit or run off. The sick and injured depended largely on volunteers and military staff for care—not that the military wasn't busy enough already. The federal government had ordered all people even suspected of exposure to the virus to be rounded up and sent to quarantine zones—camps set up on the outskirts of towns and cities and separated by barbed wire fences. _

_ I remember seeing one on television, as I sat huddled in my apartment complex. Although the camera was relatively far away from the camp, I could still see what was going on. Large white tents dotted the landscape. Men and women in protective rubber suits were patrolling the perimeter of the fence, some carrying pistols. They looked like aliens, with large black goggles covering the eyes that I was sure contained pure terror. A woman was clawing at the fence—an infected woman. It wasn't far enough away that I couldn't see the blood and tears running down her face—and the crying infant in her arms. _

_ I guess things never go as planned…_

* * *

Lana sat perched in a tight ball under the window of her second floor apartment. From the streets below, she could faintly hear the high-pitched screeching of car tires as some unlucky soul swerved in the road. Piercing screams and pleas for help assaulted her ears; Lana squeezed her eyes shut tightly and clamped her hands down over the sides of her head. Her thoughts were racing repetitiously.

_What do I do? What do I do? Where do I go? I need to get to Mom and Dad and Alfie!_ _Where are they?_

The last she had heard of her parents had been on the phone—she recalled their pleas for her to stay safe and not go outside. They had been driving at the time; Lana had heard the unmistakable roar of the familiar BMW in the background.

_But where did they go? Home? _

Lana wanted nothing more at the moment than to be with her family: her parents and little brother, Alfred, who was still a kid. She could picture her father's kind wrinkled face, his salt-and-pepper goatee that he trimmed meticulously; she yearned to be near her stoic mother, who was always Lana and Alfie's pillar of strength in times of crisis. And she desperately wanted to see her little brother. Lana had always been overprotective of him, seeing as she was ten years older. He was only nine now, after all—not nearly old enough to watch out for himself.

Lana needed to be with them—but her cramped legs felt like liquefying jelly as she huddled closer to the radiator. She felt a sudden surge of anger at herself. _Dammit, Lana!_ She yelled at herself internally. _Get a grip! You've been training since you were eleven. You could probably drop anyone on the street before they even knew what happened. Don't be a coward! You just have to move…_

With willpower she didn't know she possessed at that moment, Lana forced herself to stand up, stumbling slightly over a cell phone cord. She needed supplies—a bag, maybe some food and water—just enough to have for herself in case she got sidetracked on her way to the house.

With a pounding heart, Lana grabbed an old duffel bag and emptied it of her boxing gloves and gi. Racing to her small kitchen, she threw five water bottles and a large bag of trail mix into the yellow sack. With one last mournful glance around her living room, Lana stole out the door.

As soon as she got out into the street, Lana felt as though she had entered a war zone.

People were everywhere. There was a convenience store at the end of her block that Lana had always frequented. Now, it stood out starkly against the evening sky as yellow flames engulfed it from the inside out. Horrible cries of fear and agony battered Lana's ears as the flames danced in her eyes. People kept running in and out, hauling bags of goods or even single items. Her mouth opened in a large O, and she just managed to dart in the opposite direction as a pair of people shoved past her cruelly.

Lana ran until her lungs felt as if they were going to explode, heading downtown towards her parents' house. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she thought of the burning store—she had been friendly with the man who owned it. He was always kind and affable. This was so wrong. So, so wrong…

Lana could barely think as she ran, merely following the streets by muscle memory. By the time she reached her parents' neighborhood, it was completely dark. Lana used the light of what few stars there were in the sky to find her way to the front of the house. It was quite a sorry sight—the trashcans had been knocked over into the gutter and ransacked, leaving pieces of garbage scattered all over the dying lawn.

Lana approached the white house and peered into the front windows. The curtains were drawn, but she could still make out the darkness inside. Were they not here? Lana's heart sank into her stomach, and she was about to turn away when she heard it.

A bloodcurdling caterwaul pierced Lana's ears like a knife. She froze momentarily. A knot tied itself in her stomach, and a cold sweat broke out all over her body. It was her mother's voice.

"Mom?!" she cried out in a panic, slapping the glass windowpane with the palms of her hands. "Mom! Open the door!"

Nothing.

Lana had never moved so fast in her life. She spun around, her eyes landing on an old marble statue of Buddha that rested near the porch. Lana picked it up, clutching it tightly in her hands, and in one fluid motion, heaved it through the window.

SMASH!

Shards of broken glassware flew in every direction, some of them cutting into the skin of Lana's arms as she dove through the gaping hole, landing unceremoniously on the living room carpet.

As she stood up slowly, she took notice of everything in the room—the yellow walls, the burgundy carpet, and the blood spatter on the walls. Lana's heart slowed in shock, trembling in her chest. It stopped completely when she recognized a small, huddled form lying in a prone heap in the black hallway.

"Oh, God…" Her voice came out choked as she stumbled over to the still body of her younger brother. She fell to her knees beside him, barely able to make out the lax, blue expression on his empty face. A small drop of blood peeked out of the corner of his mouth, and, as Lana looked lower, a small stab wound showed on his lower abdomen. Her own blood froze, as did the world around her. Paralyzing fear and denial attached itself to her core, leaving her with nothing but a sense of failure.

_Alfie…no…he isn't allowed to die! He's my baby brother…_

"No, Abby!" A masculine voice boomed out, a giant thud following right after it. Lana's head shot up, her eyes landing on a pair of people who came suddenly falling out of another doorway—right in front of her.

They were her parents—but they looked as if they were struggling. Lana's father, Dominic, had wrapped one of his arms around her mother's throat. It looked as if he were attempting to choke her. His other hand had one of Abby's arms hidden behind her back in such a way that Lana couldn't see it.

She cried out, pouncing at her father and trying to pry him off of her mother.

"Dad! Dad! Let go of her, what's wrong with you?!" With horror, Lana realized he had gone insane from the disease. A sob broke free from her lungs, knowing that he had killed Alfie. She clung hard to her father's shoulders, and with one quick pull, she had yanked him down onto her. Lana's eyes fell to her mother as she bolted away from her fallen father and crouched down on the carpet beside her, trying to will her to get up. "Mom—"

"Yeeeah!" Lana's mother swung around violently. Lana saw a bright glint for a moment before she felt a pain unlike anything she had ever experienced bloom in her right eye. She reflexively recoiled, her hands shooting up to her face as her back slammed into the wall next to her. A wail of pain escaped her lips, and she felt hot blood trickling down her face. A salty, iron taste touched her tongue.

"Get away from me, demon!" Abby shrieked, a crazed edge to her voice. Lana, even with her eyes closed, felt a warm body slide in front of her. She opened her uninjured eye; it was her father. He was holding himself across his daughter's body in a protective stance. And then Lana understood—her mother was the one who had been infected.

She was the one who had killed Alfie.

The crazed woman was standing in front of them, brandishing one of Dominic's large iron hunting knives.

"No, Abby!" Dominic continued in desperation. "It's your daughter, Lana. You've hurt her. Abby, please…" He was begging.

But it did no good. Abby's eyes were wide and shiny with malice, her pupils dilated to such a point that the green irises were almost invisible. Her dark curly hair was in disarray, as were her clothes: her shirt was torn at the neckline, and a small trickle of blood stained the edges.

_She looks like a madwoman_, Lana thought with fright. Her uncovered eye was wide and searching for any remnant of her mother—of the woman she knew. She found none.

"How do you know my name?!" Abby shrieked, stepping closer with the knife; she held the hilt close to her chest, as if in preparation for running them through with it. "Where is my family?!"

"We're right here, sweetheart—"

"No! Stop lying! What have you done with them?! You…you _imposters_!"

And she dove towards them with the knife, ready to stab both her husband and daughter through their hearts.

"_No!_" Father and daughter screamed together as Dominic lunged up at Abby, taking her whole body into his arms. Lana registered a squishing sound, and her father's body gave a small twitch.

"Dad!" Lana screeched in panic, rushing to his side. His arms held Abby tightly as they both slid to the ground by Lana's feet, though she was struggling against him. He squeezed harder.

"Get out of here, Lana," he said in a hushed voice. As Lana watched in horror, a thin stream of blood slipped from the corner of his mouth. "Leave us. You have to save yourself now…I'll hold on to her…but you have to run."

"But Alfie—"

"He's dead, sweetheart." Lana knew this already, but it didn't make the sudden sting in her chest any more mild. "She…killed him first…I tried to save him…"

He looked up at her in agony, a mask of pain etched into his once-kind features. "Now, Lana!"

Lana shook her head stupidly, the tears and blood flowing freely down her cheeks. She could barely form coherent words. "Dad—"

"_GO!_" he roared, crushing his large torso against that of a struggling and snarling Abby with what little strength he had left. He was getting weaker. Lana flinched and released a wretched sob, looking towards Alfie's still body.

She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't feel…but she could run.

"I love you," she choked out, getting clumsily to her feet. As she stumbled out of the house in a daze, she heard her father's increasingly feeble voice calling out amidst the torrid screams of her mother.

"Survive, Lana. Just _survive!_"

As Lana ran into the dark street and down the road, she could only think three things, reciting them over and over again.

_Mom's dead, Dad's dead, Alfie's dead…Mom's dead, Dad's dead, Alfie's dead…_

Her heart had seemingly stopped, her world had halted. The only thing that seemed tangible and real was the sensation of being hollow, of complete and utter emptiness.

Lana ran until she came to a pothole in the vacant street. She pried it open, breaking one of her fingernails in the process. She didn't take notice of the new flow of blood.

That night, Lana slept in the sewer. By the time she came out, everything had changed.

* * *

Lana had somehow managed to stretch out her supply of trail mix and bottled water for four days—with difficulties. Obviously, she had been parched and starving by the end of the third day, but fear and what she viewed in her current state of mind as necessity kept her from going to the surface yet.

So, she had started walking. She followed the path of the sewer in whatever direction it took her; she wasn't entirely sure at that point. Lana had no idea where she was going to end up—if she even managed to make it out of there before dying. Perhaps she would simply die of the stench or faint while climbing up the metal ladder. She wasn't quite certain she would mind, anyway—the numbness was still present.

Yet Lana was still able to care about one thing: the sewer itself. It was beyond disgusting. Where she was looked like a long, gray hallway lit only dimly by the scant amount of light that filtered through the gutters on the surface. There was only one walkway; parallel to it was what Lana thought of as a never-ending river of literal shit.

The viscous liquid was brown and littered with various discarded items that bobbed occasionally at the surface. Lana felt nauseated every time she looked at it. Used tampons, condoms, bits of rotting food, and miscellaneous trash constantly floated past her. And the smell—Lana had never come across something so atrocious in her life. It reeked of old moldy food, rotten eggs, feces, and piss. Although, at that point, Lana wasn't willing to bet a lot on the assumption that she looked or smelled much better.

As a result of her unfavorable environment, Lana had been neglecting to eat much of anything. Consequently, her body had begun punishing itself. She felt sick and drained of energy, and was sure that she had lost at least a pound or two by the time she got out of there.

Meanwhile, if Lana's nerve endings were any reliable judge, the wound from her father's knife had really done a number on her. The blood had crusted on her face, and her injured eye was stinging and throbbing: Lana could consistently feel her pulse in it. Her vision in that eye was clouded and vague. She was afraid it would go completely blind, or at least become infected if it wasn't already. How could she take care of herself with a useless eye?

Either way, blind or not, one thing was clear: she needed to get out of there.

On her fourth day underground, Lana came across a metal ladder that led to a pothole on the surface of God-knows-where. Still feeling slightly apprehensive, she began to climb.

Once she got to the top, she held on to the top rung while placing her other hand on the cover. With a hefty sigh, Lana pushed the top up and out of the way. Bright sunlight immediately ambushed her; she snapped both of her eyes shut, irritating her right one in the process.

The first noises she heard were…nothing.

Not a sound could be heard within the range of her hearing. The total silence made Lana's skin crawl. _That's…strange_, she thought, poking the top of her head out of the pothole tentatively.

Her eyes scanned over her surroundings. Nothing around her was familiar in the slightest—the streets were all empty, the buildings all one-story and cheap. A Laundromat sat on the left side of the street, right across from an antiques store—not exactly the type of structures one would find in the typical higher-class urban area Lana lived.

Cars and trucks were packed tightly on the street, some even partially driven onto the sidewalks. They had all been abandoned—some of the doors were hanging wide open, the seats clawed and radios busted. The passengers had obviously decided they would have better luck on their feet.

Lana hoped they had been right.

_Maybe I'm in a more suburban part of L.A…or am I even still in the city? _

It sure as hell felt like it. The sun beat down on Lana's back with fervor once she had crawled completely out of the sewer and replaced the manhole cover. Based on the sun's position and the God-awful heat, Lana guessed it to be around noon.

As soon as she was standing in the street, Lana suddenly felt…lost. Her heart rate increased—as did the throbbing in her eye—and she felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on.

_What am I going to do now? My entire family is gone…_Her thoughts quickly became erratic and furious. _I shouldn't even be alive, I should have died with them…I have nowhere to go, anyway, no way of finding out where I even am…_

_How could my father have expected me to survive by myself like this?_

_I can't do this…_

"_You're strong, Lana."_

Fresh tears created track marks down Lana's dirty cheeks. She felt as if she were about to collapse—but then a sudden noise pulled her out of her musings.

Her head snapped up; the tears instantly stopped. There were…voices. Lana wasn't able to make out what they were saying, but they sounded as if they were originating from an alleyway near the end of the block. Lana followed them automatically, not knowing what she was going to find.

As soon as she took one look down the alley, she knew it was nothing good.

There were three men, all dressed in torn jeans and sneakers. One of them had a greasy ponytail hanging down over the back of his plaid shirt, while the other two were clearly skinheads. One of the bald men was donning a black bandana, while the other was clutching a switchblade in his right hand.

They looked mean—especially with their backs to Lana, cornering someone who was pressed against the brick wall. It was a woman—a big, tough-looking Latina woman. But instead of looking fearful—as any sane person would—this woman appeared to be ten shades of pissed off. None of them saw Lana ogling them from around the corner.

"Look, lady," the one with the knife said in an aggravated tone, "just give us anything you got in them there pockets of yers."

"Fuck off, asshole. That knife as big as your dick?"

Bandana spoke up with an irate yell. "Listen, bitch, if you don't do what we say Roy's gonna cut your lips off of your fucking face."

"I'd like to see him try."

_She's going to get herself killed_, Lana thought in astonishment. Without thinking, she stepped into the alley and began to slowly creep up behind the thugs. The woman took notice immediately, and her eyebrows rose, but she didn't say a word. Instead, she looked back to her captors, a fierce gleam in her brown eyes.

Bandana spoke again, cruel amusement lacing his tone. "Yeah? Well, let's get on with it, then. Roy?"

Just as Roy took a step forward with the knife, Lana put all of her weight on her left leg and swung her right leg around; her shin connected with the back of Roy's knee, and she lifted it rapidly, unbalancing him. He fell flat on his back with a surprised cry, his leg swept out from beneath him.

"What the hell—?"

Just as Bandana and Ponytail turned around in surprise, Lana delivered a solid jab to Bandana's face, turning her knuckles as it landed. As soon as her hand came back to rest in front of her chin, Lana struck out again with a strong right punch, whipping it to his face and back in little more than a second. His head snapped to the side, and he stumbled back a few steps, blood seeping out of his nose.

With a solid liver shot and brutal locking hook, Lana dropped the man to the ground.

Just as Ponytail was about to charge her himself, Lana saw a large blur collide with him, knocking him to the ground with a grunt. The large woman had mounted him, and was now punching him repeatedly in the head. Lana heard a low grumble, and turned to see the man with the knife standing up, brandishing the blade with teeth bared.

Out of nowhere, in her mind's eye, Lana saw her mother four days ago, wearing that same hideous expression…

And then he ran straight at Lana, his right hand reaching forwards to stab her.

She moved almost too fast for her brain to fully register, adrenaline taking over her muscles. She grabbed his wrist with her left hand, stopping the knife and holding the bone secure as she threw her other arm under his right armpit. Her back was against his chest, and she was currently using both hands to cup the arm with the knife.

In one rapid motion, Lana simply dropped to her knees, the gravity of the motion propelling him over her shoulder and onto the ground before her. From there, Lana stood up, and delivered a swift kick to his head; he was rendered unconscious.

Hearing faint footsteps, Lana looked up and saw the two remaining men, Ponytail and Bandana, hightailing it out of there as fast as humanly possible.

_Huh…guess they weren't expecting targets that would fight back._

Lana turned around, making eye contact with the large woman; she was staring at her, an awed expression on her face. There was an awkward moment before the woman spoke.

"Damn."

She sounded surprised. "That was some crazy shit you just did there, girly. I owe ya one."

"It's nothing, just…" Lana trailed off, at an ephemeral loss for words. She really didn't know what to say to the woman she had just helped. Thankfully, the stranger didn't seem to mind.

"So, what's your name? Mine's Itzel. Itzel Shankman. Lived here my whole life. Hey—we should get someplace safe, ya get me? It's fuckin' hot and there could be more crazy assholes 'round here somewhere, and I don't wanna get into any trouble."

Itzel started walking out of the alley, stepping on the unconscious man's fingers with gusto. Lana followed instinctively, but not before she crouched down by the man's side and slipped the switchblade into her own pocket—just for good measure.

Itzel continued talking as Lana caught up with her. "I only came outside to try to find some supplies—food and whatnot. I was holed up at my old apartment down the street when I realized there was a CVS a few blocks down. I was just headin' there now—"

"So you know where we are?" Lana interjected excitedly.

Itzel gave her an _Are you serious?_ sideways glance. "Course. You not from around here?"

Lana shook her head.

"Then how'd ya get here?"

"Sewer." That earned another strange look.

"For real? Well, I gotta give it to ya, girly, you've got balls. Well, anyway, welcome to Van Nuys. Sorry there ain't a welcoming party—everyone alive's either indoors or ran off. The crazies were all quarantined, y'know, but everyone's still shittin' their pants. I've seen a few farther off in the camps, roamin' around in wide areas, yellin' at trees and throwin' shit around at the guards. Can't get too close, or you'll get sick too. Just bein' outside ain't entirely safe."

"I don't think it's safe anywhere anymore." Lana agreed softly.

"You got that right. Speakin' of safe, that eye don't look too good. It's oozin' pus and shit."

"Really? Fuck…" Lana groaned, feeling a sharp pain reverberating throughout her eye now that Itzel had reminded her.

" 'Fuck' is right. How'd that happen?"

Lana's blood ran cold, and she felt an abrupt pressure on the back of her eyes all over again. Itzel clearly took notice of her change in expression, because she quickly backtracked.

"Uh, look, never mind. You don't hafta tell me. They prob'ly got some stuff at the CVS that'll take care of it. 'Kay?"

Lana nodded meekly.

"Yeah. Right."

* * *

**Well, that's it for Part 1 of Lana's flashbacks. Originally, this was all going to be one long chapter, but I broke it up because it was far too long, and too much (in my opinion) to keep track of in one chapter. Sorry about that. **

**Either way, please give me your feedback if you feel there is anything horribly wrong with this chapter. Thanks for reading!**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	3. Emerge from the Manhole

**Author's Note: Well, this is Part 2 of Lana's flashbacks, and I am happy to say that things will start to pick up, plot-wise, next chapter. Sorry if you are waiting patiently for L to come in, but don't worry; there will be plenty of him.**

**HINT! I will be introducing a certain serial killer next chapter, so stay tuned for that. ;)**

**Warnings: Angst, profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Emerge from the Manhole**

"Goddammit! _Fuck_…" Lana hissed in pain as the eye drops were dripped into her burning injury. She winced. "Why does this have to burn so bad?"

"Cause it's supposed to make your eye better. You can't get anything good in life without sufferin'. Don'tcha know that, girly?"

Lana was sitting in the back room of a once-busy CVS Pharmacy. Not much had been left in the way of useful supplies—everything on the shelves had been mostly cleaned out by those who were currently boarded up in their homes. By the time Lana and Itzel had gotten there, not much of medicinal importance had been left in visible sight.

But they had gotten lucky after all. The most valuable items that were kept in the pharmacy were those that were locked in the back room: things like prescription drugs, medications, insulin—and antibiotic eye drops, much to Lana's rare fortune. Itzel was at present pouring them into her eye, coaxing pained reactions from the injured girl.

"So," the big woman started, "you never did tell me your name. Or why you saved my ass back there."

"La—uh, Emerson," Lana stammered, divulging only her middle name. For some strange reason, she didn't want to give away her first name. Lana couldn't put her finger on why—it just felt…wrong, somehow.

"Ain't got a last name?"

"N-no. Just Emerson."

Itzel squinted her eyes, but decided not to push the issue. "Well, _Emerson_…why'd you bother stoppin' to help me? I ain't anything to you."

Lana frowned, her brows furrowing. "I…" she paused, her mouth hanging open. She imagined that she looked quite dumb at that moment, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. Why _had_ she bothered to save Itzel? She didn't know her then—she still didn't; they had only just met that day. The woman could be a murderer or crazy person, just waiting for Lana to turn her back so that she could rob her blind—not that Lana had anything of true value left in her duffel bag. But still…as soon as Lana had seen the knife in that man's hands, she had felt no fear. She couldn't recall feeling any hesitation when she stepped in to defend Itzel.

And then it clicked.

_It was because…of my father. My mother was coming at me with a knife, and he stepped in front of me to save my life. He sacrificed himself…with no fear. When I saw her cornered by those men in that alley, I wasn't just seeing her—I was seeing my father and mother, four days ago. I felt so guilty—I feel so guilty—for doing nothing to save my family…for just watching him get gutted like a fish…_

_I saved her to make myself feel better._

Lana felt disgusted with herself.

She closed her eyes. The tears rolling down her cheeks mingled with the eye drops, and Lana knew that Itzel had seen. She tried to stop them, but to no avail—her tear ducts seemed to have a mind of their own.

"You…just reminded me of someone." Lana sniffed. "That's all."

Itzel nodded, her lip jutting out in approval of Lana's answer—after all, it wasn't technically a lie. "That's a fucked-up reason, girly. You might consider thinkin' next time ya come across someone in trouble. They might not be so grateful as me. Feel me?"

Lana felt her cheeks erupt in flames. "So what? You wanted me to let you get stabbed by those assholes?"

"I ain't one to be biased. Anyone else would've, and you should've also. This place has already gone mostly to hell—and it's only gonna get worse. Most of the people you'll come across outside are crooks or druggies. Trust me—you got lucky."

Itzel paused suddenly, her eyes widening as her head began twisting around every which way, rather like that of an owl. It was as if she was hearing something that Lana couldn't; she looked panicked. "Speaking of which—"

Out of nowhere, the door to the storage room was flung open violently, slamming into the wall with a loud BOOM.

Three men barged in, guns at the ready and pointing straight at the women's heads.

"Hands up!" the one in the middle commanded in a deep, intimidating voice. He cocked his gun as if he were about to shoot. Needless to say, Lana and Itzel hurriedly complied.

As they all stood there, face-to-face, Lana had time to look over the three intruders. They were all dressed in nice clothes—black suits with jackets and ties, topped off with durable leather boots. The one who had yelled was sporting a kind of freaky Afro and a very unpleasant expression. The guy on his right was, for lack of a better phrase, as big as a house. He had broad shoulders and a square jaw, along with a height of what Lana perceived to be at least seven feet. In contrast, the man on the left was short and average-looking, with an unlit cigarette tucked gently behind his ear.

_They look like hit-men_, Lana thought in bewilderment. _Or undercover cops_.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" the Afro-guy demanded, his teeth bared in suspicion.

"Nothin' much—just gettin' some stuff." Itzel seemed to be taking being held at gunpoint much more seriously than knifepoint, much to Lana's relief.

"Oh, yeah?" Afro-guy said sarcastically. He gestured with his elbow to the bottle of eye drops still clenched in Itzel's fist. "What's that?"

"Antibiotic eye drops," Lana cut in hastily, mortally terrified of where Itzel's snarky attitude would get them. "They're for me."

She moved her side bangs out of her face, revealing her freshly scarred and infected eye to the men. The small one gasped, and Afro-guy merely gave a grunt of acknowledgment. The big one stayed silent.

"How'd that happen?" Afro-guy asked gruffly.

Lana didn't answer; she felt fire crawling through her veins.

Aggravated by her apparent obstinacy, Afro-guy shifted his gun's trajectory slightly, aiming it straight between Lana's eyes. "I asked you how it happened. Answer me."

Lana gulped, a barely audible answer finding its way out of her throat. "My mother attacked me."

"Was she sick?"

Land nodded almost imperceptibly. The men all backed away, fear lacing their faces. "How long ago was it?"

"Almost five days ago."

At that, all three of them visibly relaxed. Afro-guy lowered his gun a bit. "Guess you're clean, then—incubation period lasts only about three days before the coughing sets in. That's what the guy at the fence said." Afro-guy paused, and his expression shifted. He began looking the two women up and down. "What do you think, Ukita?" he said to the shorter man, who then transferred his cigarette to his mouth in response. He lit it up with a matchstick from his jacket pocket, the flick of the match nearly making Lana jump. Taking a long drag, his beady eyes crawled over the women, his eyes wondering and concentrated.

"Not sure. They look like they're in pretty decent shape…don't know about that eye, though. It could be a liability."

"Or an attraction."

Lana felt a surge of panic. What they were saying was scaring her—it made her and Itzel seem like cattle to be fought over. She spoke loudly before she could stop herself.

"What the fuck are you guys talking about? What are you going to do to us?" She sure as hell hoped she didn't look as scared as she felt.

"Ain't it obvious?" Itzel addressed Lana, but was currently glaring daggers at the men. "They're trying to run some kind of train on us—don't know for what, though. Care to explain, boys?"

Afro-guy looked pissed. "Shut up and stop asking questions. But just so you know, no—it isn't a train. We aren't pimps. Our job offers are completely voluntary. All you've got to do is cooperate with us."

"And if we refuse?" Lana's stomach felt heavy with an impending sense of dread.

Afro-guy shot them a passive mien. "Sorry—that part's mandatory. You're coming with us—but after that, what you do is your choice."

Itzel and Lana were promptly bound by the hands and blindfolded by the giant—Mogi, as Afro-guy called him—and led outside, where they were ushered none too gently into what smelled like an old, leather-seated vehicle. It was strange, Lana reasoned; as of now, the only cars she had seen had been empty, dead and void of all passengers by the side of the road. None of the gas stations had given the impression of being operational.

_So where are they getting fuel? _

But Lana didn't have time to wonder for long—she heard the rustle of keys being put into the ignition, and the loud rumble as the engine started, a pleasant _vroom_ filling the backseat.

And then the radio came on full blast, a man's voice drowning out the customary sounds of the car.

"The fuck?" Itzel said in surprise. "I thought all the stations got ditched weeks ago!"

"They did—all the channels are mostly static now, except for this one," Ukita said mundanely. "This guy's new—he showed up around the same time that the others started shutting down. Don't know who he is, but he's been keeping anyone who's got a radio up to date on world news. And he plays music sometimes."

The voice being emitted from the radio was smooth and relaxing—it was the kind of voice that soothed you, the kind that immediately instilled a sense of trust in those who were listening.

"_Okay, all you listeners out there…welcome to Bad News radio, or Apocalypse FM, whichever you prefer…I'm your handsome host, Stripes, bringing you bad news day after day from my humble abode."_

"I think I like this guy," Itzel said with a snicker.

"_In bad news, I've received word from an outside contact that all nations not on the North American continent have banned any passenger air travel to or from the continental United States, Canada, and Mexico to prevent the spread of PHD—and no, I'm not talking about college degrees. So, it looks like we'll be stuck here for a while. _

"_According to more bad news, it looks as though that will be the last piece of international news I will be able to give you. All contact—phone calls, internet connections, the whole shebang—with our lovely continent has been cut off from the other world nations. So, that means that starting now, I will no longer be able to provide you with news not from around here. However, I will still be able to report on what's going on locally. So stay tuned for that…_

"_Well, I guess that's all for right now. This was the afternoon news, coming to you straight from Stripes and my associate. We'll get back to you in four hours, so stay tuned and be safe. In the meantime, here's an oldie that's sure to take you back…"_

From the car speakers, the sound of heavy guitars and drums wafted to Lana's eardrums, accompanied by a familiar husky voice. It was Alice Cooper's "Brutal Planet," and Lana couldn't help but feel that that song matched her surroundings perfectly.

Lana didn't see anything until the automobile came to a complete stop. There was the sound of a car door opening and closing, and then her blindfold was suddenly tugged roughly off of her head, scraping her wound in the process. She hissed, feeling the cut open up again.

"Sorry," Afro-guy said quickly, sounding genuinely guilty. He took Lana's shoulder, guiding her out of what she now saw was an old Chevrolet truck. It had a sleek tan leather interior that nearly made her mouth water.

"Nice ride," she said in admiration, momentarily forgetting where she was and who she was with.

"Thanks."

Afro-guy led her to the sidewalk, where she saw Itzel was already standing, both Mogi and Ukita by her side. She looked irked.

"I'm with you less than a day and I'm already kidnapped. You got some bad mojo, girly."

Lana shrugged, still dreading the unknown.

"Let's go inside. You can talk to our boss."

"Your boss?" Lana asked quizzically, trying in vain to twist her body so as to look Afro-guy in the eyes. "Are you guys gangsters?"

No response.

Her head pulsing wildly, Lana stared up at the building they were about to enter. It was huge, six stories at least, judging from the amount of windows. The coloring was gray, red and black with gold trimming around the double doors and large business sign that hung above it.

It read, in large, shimmering cursive letters, _Waterfront Inn &amp; Casino._

_A casino _and_ an inn? That explains the size…but what are we doing here? _Lana was puzzled, but was instantly pulled out of her reverie by a harsh shove through the doors.

Her ears immediately recoiled from the ominous silence that greeted the five of them—but her eyes (her good eye, at least) did not.

They had entered what appeared to be the casino floor—evidently one had to pass through it to get to the actual hotel lobby. The room was at least half the size of a football field, with scarlet walls and old gambling tables stationed at various points. Lana took notice of, among other things, a Roulette table, a poker station, and a series of assorted slot machines.

At the far end of the casino, there stood a stage, enormous and imposing in appearance—but what was on the hardwood was even more so. In the center of the stage stood a large octagonal cage that obscured most of the space. Despite not being a party girl, Lana had been to clubs before; she was familiar with cage shows. And this cage was _definitely_ for putting on shows, most likely of the risqué and questionable kind.

Without a doubt, the brunette knew she never wanted to be inside of it.

On the very right side of the room, directly in front of the newcomers, there stood what Lana realized, after much analysis, was a fancy bar. Although Lana was only nineteen, she had seen the inside of bars before—and this one was no joke.

It was _huge_, the counter and stools made of polished black chestnut and decorated behind the counter with medals, pins, and photographs of old ships.

_Classy_, Lana thought, her jaw hanging slack. She was so dumbfounded that she barely took notice of the man who was sitting on one of the barstools until he cleared his throat.

"Aizawa?" he said in a poisonous voice. "Who are these women?"

"Potential assets," Ukita cut in before Aizawa—that was Afro-guy's name, apparently—had a chance to speak. "…sir. Y'know, for that idea you had? We were out looking for supplies, and we came across them at CVS—"

The man, who Lana could only describe as God-like in appearance, held up one hand, effectively silencing Ukita. His face broke out into a sly smile.

Lana was vaguely reminded of a snake before it swallowed its prey.

"Well done, gentlemen."

Slowly, he stood up, revealing a cashmere button-up and brown slacks—a perfect outfit to complement his chestnut hair and hazel eyes. He walked closer to Itzel and Lana, his dress shoes clicking distractedly on the smooth floor. Lana saw Itzel scrunch up her nose in distaste as the man's eyes scrutinized their faces and bodies.

At the drop of a hat, he clapped his hands together, turning around so his back was facing the women. His face was angled towards the wall.

"Ladies," he began. "It is fair to assume that you two are aware that the world has recently gone to hell in a handbasket. Correct?"

No one said a word, but from his manner of speaking Lana guessed he didn't really want anyone to. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy hearing himself talk.

"In light of these events, it has become…obvious to me that anyone who is not sick or evil must find a way to survive…a refuge, if you will…So, my associates and I have endeavored to create a sort of business that caters to a certain group of people.

"As you know, those who kill are the ones who survive; the scum of the streets will be the first to bounce back from a large-scale disaster such as this. I detest these sorts of people and I am prone to assuming that others do as well. I do not believe that you two are like that. You seem like nice women…" He gave a charismatic grin. "So, I have a business proposition for you—now, please don't give me that look."

Itzel was staring dangerously at the man, her nostrils flaring. "So, what? You goin' to whore us out?"

The man did his best to look genuinely surprised and hurt. "Why, of course not! Where did you get that idea? I would never disrespect women like that. No—what I am suggesting is a show, of sorts. A performance to entertain those who have a lust for violence. You put on a show, and we take anything of value they have to offer—whether they want to give it to us or not. Violent people are like drug addicts—they'll hurt themselves and others for kicks, just as they'll pay to watch others do so. And I'll give you a fair cut of everything we get—as well as a place to live here. My men will help keep you safe from harm. How does that sound? It's completely voluntary, of course. You are free to be on your way…if you want to live in fear and pain. And I really don't want that for either of you." His smirk got wider. "So, what's it going to be?"

Of course. Now it made sense—the blindfolds were to make it so neither her nor Itzel knew where they were, to make them dependent and unable to find shelter without making it seem as though that's what the man was trying to do. This would greatly influence their decision-making process.

_What an asshole. _

Although Lana could clearly see through his I'm-only-trying-to-help-you act, she still found herself reeling over what he had just said. Was he telling the truth about his "business proposition?" He seemed phony, falsified somehow…but that didn't necessarily mean he was lying. Would she really be better off here, fighting for other people's entertainment, than fending for herself—and Itzel, if she even stuck around?

Lana could barely think straight. So much had happened in the last few days: losing her family, hurting those bums in the alley, meeting Itzel, getting kidnapped—Lana felt as though her head was about to implode. She had already fucked up once when she ran away from her home and left her father to die at her mother's hands—could she stand to make another mistake again by turning away from offered shelter? She knew she could fight, even with her eye the way it was.

She could survive, just as her father had wanted.

"I'm in," she said breathlessly, meeting the golden man's watchful gaze.

"Excellent," he said calmly. "And you?" He dipped his head at Itzel.

The butch woman's eyes flicked from Lana to the man in indecisiveness. She stared at Lana for a full ten seconds, conflict evident in her features. Finally, she nodded hesitantly. "Count me in too, goldilocks."

He paid no mind to the new nickname. "Well, ladies, my name is Light Yagami. Welcome to Waterfront. Shall Mogi show you around? Aizawa, stand guard by the window…"

As the burly man led the women farther into the building, Lana couldn't help but feel a small spark of some indistinguishable feeling ignite in her guts.

Whatever had happened to her in the last few days, it had somehow altered a crucial part of Lana that she could not quite pinpoint. It had changed her. The moment she had emerged from the manhole, she was no longer Lana E. Turk, as she had always been called on her school rosters.

She was no longer a messy, normal-looking nineteen-year-old girl with a normal family and a normal dead-end waitressing job.

She was Emerson, a survivor with a scarred face and a scarred mind.

She knew she could fight. She knew she could survive.

And she knew she would never run away again.

* * *

**I hope none of you are pissed off about how Mogi, Ukita, and Aizawa are acting. Don't worry, I like their characters; they're not evil. But hey, no one's perfect, and some people have to do bad things to survive. **

**Thank you for reading, and feel free to review if you don't like something! **

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	4. Two Shriveled Hearts

**Author's Note: And the plot thickens. Somewhat. In any case, this chapter contains considerable adult content and should DEFINITELY be read with warnings. This is definitely one of the darkest chapters, content-wise. So if you can handle this, you'll be good. **

**Warnings: Torture/Mutilation/Murder/Sadism, Bondage/Dubious Consent (not of OC), profanity, angst. Wow. I think that's all of it.  
**

**I did some expanding on B's character for the purpose of this , so I hope you like it.**

**It's also come to my attention that I should put a disclaimer in here, which I have been forgetting to do. So I don't own Death Note. There's your disclaimer, I guess. **

* * *

**Chapter 4: Two Shriveled Hearts**

Though he would never verbally admit to loving anything, B had to be honest with himself: he loved the smell of blood.

He loved how the metallic scent clung to the inside of his nostrils, and how it seemed to somehow taint everything it touched.

It was irresistible.

Of course, he hadn't always thought that. He hadn't always been "deranged," as many of the authority figures in his life so often mused behind his back. He had always been impulsive, to be certain, and obsessive to a degree—but he did not become a murderer (as some may call him) until he met _him_.

L. That bastard. B hated him with everything in his blackened, shriveled heart—and yet, he still could not bring himself to completely abandon his old goal of becoming just like him.

No, not like him—better. B _knew_ he was better than L—and he knew he could make everyone else see it, too. By the time he was finished, everyone on Earth would know the name Beyond Birthday. Or he would die trying, and take down anyone who got in his way.

With a new surge of excitement coursing through his veins, B turned away from the closed window, absentmindedly closing the blinds to prevent any unwanted viewers from watching his work.

Los Angeles had once been a very crowded place—the multitudes of abandoned skyscrapers and urban clubs B could see out the window were a testament to that. He wouldn't be surprised if someone, even one of those sickos, happened to wander by outside.

He yanked his protective plastic mask down over his face, once again seeing the world through a filmy screen. The mask bothered him; after many experiments, he had found that part of the raw enjoyment from a fresh kill stemmed directly from watching it happen with one's own eyes, and having the person know your face as they slipped away. The mask took some of that thrill away from him.

_Oh, well_, he thought with a shrug of his shoulders, _It will have to do for now, until I can find a healthy kill…_

B sauntered over to the dining room table in the kitchen, and looked with renewed vigor at the writhing form lying sprawled across the wood. He stepped closer, coming to stand by the person's side.

It was a woman, most likely in her late twenties. She was strawberry blonde, with intense bloodshot blue eyes that seemed to constantly dart angrily around the room, looking for something to focus her hate on. Her eyes came to rest on B's hidden face. She growled, a deep guttural sound, as her teeth strained against the gag he had placed in her mouth. Her arms and legs were bound forcefully to the table with strips of cloth, making it incredibly troublesome to escape. B had told her so many times, but his attempts at communication seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The position of her body vaguely reminded B of an ancient Aztec ritual sacrifice—a practice he had learned about in Wammy's House long ago. However, B had no plans to rip her heart out of her chest—at least, not while she was alive.

The scraggly man took some time to survey her face and body. She was actually quite attractive, even in her twisted state. B was very much looking forward to seeing what her insides looked like as well.

_Will her blood burn as hot as her eyes? _

He hoped her insides were exquisite. It would be a shame if they weren't.

His only regret was that she was one of the infected; her anger wasn't nearly as alluring as he knew her fear would be. A person's fear was delicious and sweet—anger was bitter, and left a bad taste in B's mouth. He didn't want his experiments to be angry with him; it made him uncomfortable. He was, after all, trying to help them.

This world, B believed, was as good for these people as a rotting corpse: it was more tailored to the flies and vermin. L was hailed as a hero for saving the kind of heart and locking up those whom society viewed as evil. B used to admire him for it as well, and strived to be just like him.

It had taken him a long time to realize what L couldn't: the bad guys were the ones who deserved to live their lives on this hunk of rock, not the innocents. By wiping their lives off of this filthy planet, B was doing the people he killed a favor. So far, he had killed six: three back home—a man, a woman, and a young child—and three of the infected.

He had saved them.

The way he did it was just insignificant detail—experiments, if you will. It was something that stimulated his curiosity and made him feel good. He did deserve some reward for his efforts, didn't he?

Of course he did.

Sighing, B carefully pulled on a pair of hospital-grade latex gloves from the small suitcase on the floor. It was a necessary precaution from contaminants. He quickly snapped the gloves on his wrist and began humming a tune; he then picked up the large kitchen knife he had placed on the counter beforehand. He ran his fingers gingerly over the smooth sides, admiring the handiwork.

As soon as the woman's eyes landed on the knife, her whole body seemed to shrink and deflate. Her pupils dilated further, her face now contorting with absolute terror. Her body, despite the impossibility, tried desperately to flop away from B as he held the knife close to her arm. A surge of warmth shot through his veins at the look in her eyes.

"Hmmmm…" he murmured softly. "That's better."

He inched the knife a bit closer to her face, and she shook her head rapidly in response, as if to beg him to stop.

B smiled under the mask. He always enjoyed this part the most.

With one deft movement, B sliced her upper arm open, causing her skin to burst open like a dam. The muffled scream almost caused B's ears to perk up, and to him they were as seductive as moans of pleasure, urging him to go on.

So he did.

He sliced cuts all over her chest, arms, and legs—even her cheeks did not escape his notice. Some were gushing blood, others only trickled a bit—but every slice still sent a jolt of increasing bodily pleasure through B's body. His face was hot, the nearly orgasmic sensations causing his whole body to throb. He moaned on the twelfth cut, his legs shaking and his breath haggard.

_My, my_, he thought cheekily. _The girl is quite a sight_.

Indeed she was. She was whimpering softly now, while tear tracks cut through the blood that stained her face. Every exposed inch of skin had scarlet on it, taunting B with its austere beauty. Rivulets of blood were running down the woman's body, pooling on the table around her and dripping silently to the floor.

He didn't think she would last much longer. Her breath was becoming shallower, her well-defined chest rising and falling gently and with less frequency. It looked as if she were in deep sleep.

It was time to end it.

Carefully, as if performing a rite of passage, B held the point of the dagger directly over the left side of her chest, placing his empty hand over his clenched fist. With one quick thrust, so as not to disturb the woman further, B plunged the knife into her heart.

Her body gave one small jerk, and was still. Her face and muscles instantly relaxed, just as B's body exploded with a sensation of pure ecstasy. Gasping wildly, his face a bright red, he bent over her still form. He traced the edges of her face delicately with his gloved fingertips. How he yearned to feel her skin…but no, it was too risky. He couldn't underestimate the possibility of getting sick; he needed time to carry out his plan.

As the amazing feelings subsided, B once again reached into his suitcase, pulling out a dropper pipet and a small tray of glass vials. Three of them were already filled.

Sticking the dropper into the fresh blood that had pooled on the ground, B salvaged enough infected blood to fill up an entire vial; he carefully resealed the cap and placed the vial back into its rightful stand.

_Four down, sixteen to go._

Once all of his utensils were back in the suitcase, B found himself staring back at the woman's closed eyelids. One more look wouldn't hurt…

* * *

_Later..._

B felt cheap and deflated as he sat on the blue loveseat in the living room. A pair of disembodied blue eyes stared back at him from the coffee table, serving as a temporary companion during his afterglow.

The unnamed woman's eyeless corpse still lay butchered in the kitchen, her suffering and anguish lost to the emptiness of the dying city. B was satisfied—but only barely. While he still derived immense pleasure from killing her, it was not nearly as intense as he had hoped it would be. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life killing those who were already dying at the hands of a much more potent murderer (or savior, as he liked to believe) than he.

Perhaps he would have time to kill someone healthy when he was done carrying out his plan…

Sighing in contentment from the results of his future actions, B stood up, gathering his meager items and exiting the apartment.

He had more work to do.

* * *

The radio was broken again.

The nervous goof of a bartender—Matsuda was his name—had dropped it for the third time that month, causing the batteries to go skidding all over the floor.

Lana, who had been sitting at the bar drinking a glass of aged brandy when he dropped the thing, had helped him put them back in; but now, no matter how they turned the on/off knob, it wouldn't play.

"Oh no…Jeez…" Matsuda stuttered in anxiety, absently playing with his hair.

Lana slapped the side of the contraption in frustration. "Are you freakin' kidding me?" she growled, twisting the volume module. "I want to listen to Stripes."

Lana was unashamed to admit that she had become accustomed to listening to the quirky radio host, with his sardonic wit and upbeat attitude when talking about how fucked everyone was. It somehow made everything seem a little less grim. Not to mention the fact that she had grown to harbor an acute fondness for the old music he played—the thought of which, at the moment, only fueled her annoyance with Matsuda.

"I'm sorry, Em." Matsuda's nickname certainly did not raise her spirits—though it did make her feel guilty for snapping at him.

Sighing, she set the broken radio back down on the bar. "It's okay, Matsuda. Nix'll fix it—hey, Nix!" Lana yelled over her shoulder at the hunched form of a woman who was currently playing poker with a group of customers. They were rough guys, from the looks of it, hoping to catch a few fights and win free admission while they were at it. What they didn't know was that the woman they were playing against could cheat at poker like nobody's business.

Nix turned around twitchily, her bald wrinkled head pulled out of its calculations. "Gimme a sec, boys," she rasped out, pocketing her cards and coming over to the bar. "What?" she snapped rudely, staring blankly at Lana and the nervous barman.

"Matsuda broke the radio. Mind taking a look at it?" Lana asked hopefully.

The dull gray eyes blinked once at the machine, and then crinkled up with a smile that showed Nix's two remaining teeth. "Nah, I'll give it a look. Got a screwdriver?" she asked of Lana.

"Nope," the scarred woman answered. "All I got is a baggie with some paper clips and a switchblade."

The bald woman then turned to Matsuda, who gulped audibly; he was scared of Nix. Of course, she did have a history of violently stabbing certain "rude" customers, so Lana could empathize with his fears. The only reason she was allowed to handle tools at all was because she was remarkably handy (disregarding the history of her fondness for crystal meth).

Needless to say, she was no longer allowed to fight in the ring.

Matsuda reluctantly reached into a drawer behind the counter, pulling out a screwdriver and handing it to the skinny woman. Lana noticed his hand resting shakily on a small pistol as well.

Lana watched Nix work for a few minutes, noting how she carefully unscrewed the front of the plastic contraption and inspected the volume knob. With a grunt that Lana hoped was positive, Nix did something to the radio that caused a dull popping sound. Then, she screwed the front back on, placing it and the tool back down on the bar. "There." With a moist burp, Nix went back to suckering the guys she was playing against.

Matsuda's posture relaxed. "That woman. Doesn't she, I dunno, give you the creeps?"

"Not really," Lana replied, reaching for the radio and turning it on. "She's just like everyone else once you've been hearing her snore all night long. She does fix the radio every other day, after all."

"Yeah…" Matsuda began timidly, but Lana cranked the volume all the way up to high, drowning out all the background noise. Stripes was talking in a loud, clear voice.

"…_In slightly worse news, many of the fences that were put up to separate quarantine zones at the time of the initial outbreak have weakened in Reseda, Van Nuys, and the more urban Los Angeles areas…if you're listening and you live in or near those regions, stay safe and be careful—a bunch of half-dead sickies may be roaming about. Was that insensitive?"_

At that last statement, the voice faded slightly; it sounded as if the guy was talking to someone else_._

Lana's skin crawled, as if small bugs were burrowing underneath her skin. Crazies…infected people…had escaped from the camps?

Well…it had been seven years since the outbreak, and any guards who had been taking care of those who fell ill must have long since died or abandoned their posts. Lana couldn't fathom how the infected prisoners had not all simply starved to death. That is, unless they had found…_alternative_ food sources. Lana shuddered internally, images of diseased lunatics tearing the living flesh from the bones of others rattling around in her brain. After seven years in captivity, would it be normal to act so depraved, even without a devastating neurological illness?

Lana hoped not.

Taking a large swig of brandy and relishing in the liquid burning her throat, Lana opted to listen to the music that was now playing. The lyrics were unfamiliar, but the tune had the distinct quality of a song not from this decade. The music was heavy and low, wistful in a sort of benign way.

_Ooooh, you cannot reach me now…._

_ Ooooh, no matter how you try…_

_ Goodbye, cruel world, it's over_

_ Walk on by…_

_ Sitting in a bunker, here behind my wall,_

_ Waiting for the worms to come_…

Whoever Stripes was, he clearly enjoyed bringing people down.

Or maybe he was just being honest.

Some time later, Lana nearly jumped out of her skin in response to the unnecessarily loud sound of a plastic tray being slapped on the counter.

"Matsu!" a high-pitched voice sing-songed. "Can I get three shots of whiskey, please?"

_Jesus Christ_, Lana thought, gulping down the rest of her brandy as a distraction from the request of the upbeat waitress beside her. Her name was, Lana believed, Misa Amane—though everyone there only called her by Amane, her surname. Lana was convinced that she was, hands down, one of the most insufferably positive people in the known universe. Her cheerful attitude and naivety would have given Lana an aneurism long ago were it not for the spark of jealousy she harbored for Misa's inexplicable happiness. How the girl even managed to keep a smile on her petite blonde face was a mystery.

"Sure thing, Miss Amane," Matsuda said happily, revealing himself to be just as unbearably cheerful; Misa was just more obvious. He quickly refilled the shot glasses on the tray. "Uh…are you sure they can pay for those?"

"Yep! They said they'd pay for the whole night—they even gave Light an entire gallon of water right in front of my eyeballs!"

Matsuda's eyes bugged. "Really? That's amazing!"

In reality, it wasn't—but it would be enough to keep everyone from dying of dehydration if their current stock ran out.

"I know, right? They sure seem confident in that poker game…" With that, Misa picked up the tray and swayed seductively over to the table where Nix sat with the men. She leaned over the table, setting the tray down in such a way that the men could see right down her shirt.

Lana was creeped out by the hungry stare one of the men gave her. She had seen that look before; she knew what followed, and it was not a memory she hoped to relive. Ever.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lana noticed that Light was watching the rat-faced man's display of interest with an expression akin to thoughtfulness. As soon as Misa came back to sit at the bar next to Lana, Light made his way over to the pervert, and the two began conversing. Lana had a bad feeling about this for Misa. She turned to the girl and was about to tell her so when out of nowhere, Lana felt a presence behind them.

"Excuse us, Amane." It was Light, with the rat standing next to him, gaping at Misa like a wolf at a sheep. "This is Higuchi. He seems…interested in getting to know you better. Perhaps you could offer to show him some of your…unique talents?"

_Shit._

Lana glanced at Misa, who reminded her oddly of a deer caught in headlights. Then, all of a sudden, her face broke out into a huge grin. "Of course, Light!" she squealed. "Anything you want!"

Lana held in a gagging noise (as well as an exclamation of outrage) at Misa's unwavering devotion to the man who was basically her pimp. She was clearly infatuated with Light, and tended to do whatever he asked without question—even if it meant having sex with total strangers.

_Of course, am I really one to talk? Is there anyone here who _wouldn't_ do what Light asked of them?_

Light smiled at Misa, and Lana swore she could see the small girl melting. "Then why don't you go show him upstairs?"

"Okay, Light!"

Misa took Higuchi's hand, leading him towards the stairs with a sway of her petite hips. Higuchi was watching her ass as they walked away. Lana swallowed the verbal (and physical) thrashing she wanted to give Light, instead taking another rather large gulp of liquor. She was drinking too much.

"Don't look so angry, Emerson," Light commented with a massive shit-eating grin on his face. Evidently she wasn't hiding her emotions well. "You should be thankful I'm not putting you up for grabs anymore. Ever since Amane's gotten here, no one's looked twice at your scar tissue." The grin grew wider. "At least not without a look of disgust."

_One day, I will squeeze the life out of you, you cocky, cowardly piece of shit._

* * *

_Thirty minutes later..._

Lana was pulled out of her stupor by Light's aggravated exhale.

"Emerson, why don't you go upstairs and check on Higuchi and Amane? His boys are becoming more…_adventurous_ with their bets, and I certainly don't want him getting anything more than he bargained for."

The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes. Of course that's why he would be concerned. Not for Misa's safety, but for the fact that he could be overusing one of his precious tools. All Light saw when he looked at anyone was an object to be used, not a person with morals and emotions.

She was digressing. "Sure thing, Yagami." Lana leapt out of the chair, glancing at the two men still trying to beat Nix at the poker table. (On an unrelated note, Lana glanced at Nix's cards as she swept by; there was no way either of them were going to best her.)

The staircase was unsurprisingly empty, seeing as whenever business was slow the fighters all shacked up in bed until someone came around. Itzel hadn't even gotten up to pee this morning.

Given the circumstances, one thing Lana did not expect, nor want, to hear was a rhythmic pounding above her head.

_Jesus, are they still going at it?_ She was about to turn around and go back downstairs when she heard something that made her heart clench: A loud, pained moan.

Lana bolted up the stairs, nearly sprinting the second flight before she burst headlong into the hallway. Misa's moans had turned into scared, pained yelps that were emanating from the room to Lana's left. Pissed off and fuming angrily, Lana tried the doorknob; it was unlocked.

"Listen here, asshole—" the angry woman started, about to reprimand Higuchi for being too rough.

But the scene before her stole the breath from her lungs.

Misa was bound to the bed by her neck, Higuchi's trousers wrapped tightly around her throat and tied to the headboard like some sort of morbid noose. His beefy hands pinned her to the mattress, holding her arms steady so that she could not thrash.

Yet an even more ungodly sight than that was causing Lana's brain to nearly sizzle out of her ears.

Higuchi was stark naked, his pimply buttocks pounding into the frail girl mercilessly. Her spread legs were limp, and her thighs were stained red with blood. Tears and mascara rolled down her cheeks.

The both of them seemed to be oblivious to Lana's presence.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!" Lana screamed loud enough for the entire building to hear her.

Before the rat could even stop his violent thrusts, Lana was on him. She grabbed him by the roots of his hair and jerked his hair back.

"Ow!" he yelled in protest, his eyes landing on the enraged woman standing above him. He blanched, his face turning from red to white in less than three seconds. "What are—"

He was cut off midsentence as Lana wrapped her forearm around his throat, grabbing her own bicep so she had him in a choke hold. She dragged him off the now-stained mattress, slamming him down on the dirty carpet.

"Oof! You crazy bitch!" Higuchi was bare-assed on his hands and knees, tenderly rubbing his throat. "What the hell is your—"

He was silenced once again as Lana savagely kicked him in the liver. Breath whooshed out of the man's lungs as he rolled to his side, clenching his abdomen in agony. "What are you—"

She delivered another hard kick to his gut. "Shut the fuck up!" She kicked him again.

And again. And again, until the man was completely curled into himself—a pathetic naked mess lying in a heap on the floor. He was groaning. Lana only faintly heard the echoing footsteps running upstairs as she went over to the bed and loosened Misa's bindings. The poor girl was pretty banged up—she was sporting a busted lip, and her pale thighs were obscenely stained. Her small breasts were marked with bright red fingerprints that the other woman knew would bruise by tomorrow.

The blonde girl sniffled as Lana helped her sit up, a small smile of gratitude gracing her lips. "Thank you," she squeaked. "I knew he was a pervert."

Lana was, quite frankly, horrified. _How the hell is she _smiling_ right now?_ Still, she tried her best to be reassuring. "Don't worry, Amane. That asshole's gonna pay."

Oh, the things she wanted to do to him…

Misa squealed as Light and Aizawa burst into the room, nearly knocking the door off its hinges as it slammed into the wall. Lana hurriedly grabbed the bed sheets, covering Misa's battered form before the two men could see her.

"What the hell's going on?" Light was staring angrily at everyone in the room; his eyes fell on the still-immobilized Higuchi, while Aizawa was merely gaping open-mouthed at Misa's shrouded body. His expression was stiff.

"Fuckface here decided to get rough with Amane. So I got a little rough with him, too."

Light's face was beyond menacing. It looked completely passive, yet dauntingly evil at the same time, as though he were envisioning the clinical process of peeling off Higuchi's skin. "Damaging one of my employees, Higuchi? I really expected better out of you." _No you didn't_. "You should understand that I do not take these sorts of offences lightly. Aizawa," Light motioned to the bushy-haired man, "collect his things. See if he has anything valuable. Get Mogi, and make sure you do the same with his friends downstairs. On second thought…bring them all up here afterwards, why don't you?"

Aizawa nodded hesitantly. "Yes, sir."

"Emerson, take Amane to her room. There are some antibacterial wipes and pills there. Make sure she takes one immediately."

Lana clenched her jaw, trying to be gentle as she helped Misa stand up with the sheet still wrapped tightly around her tiny frame. The girl was no longer crying; her tears had dried seemingly as soon as Light had come in. Or maybe she was just in shock.

"And as for you, sir. I'm afraid I cannot forgive someone for damaging one of my commodities."

"Come on, man! The bitch is fine!"

Lana growled, spinning to face him again, and Light shot her a look of warning.

"Go, Emerson. I will take care of him."

The scarred girl obeyed with reluctance, leading a quaking Misa to the door.

The only sounds she heard after the door had closed behind her were Higuchi's pleads for mercy, a single gunshot, and then…silence.

* * *

"Come on, Amane. You've got to take it."

Misa held the small white pill in the curved palm of her hand, hesitation written all over her face. "But I always bleed so much afterwards. Do I have to?"

Lana held in a groan. "I know you don't like it, but you don't want to get pregnant, do you?"

Misa looked distraught, yet she still managed to crack a small smile. "Maybe I should! Then Light wouldn't make me do that gross stuff anymore…maybe he'd even help me!"

Lana restrained herself from grabbing the girl and shaking some sense into her. Was she blind? Or just hopelessly devoted to the notion that Light would one day love her? Either way, she was damn sure that it wasn't going to happen.

She shook her head sadly. "No, Misa. If you got pregnant, Light would kill you _and_ the baby—if he didn't try to push you down a flight of stairs first. Besides, even if you did happen to survive Light's wrath, he would sure as hell kick you out of here. You'd either starve or get killed, and if by some miracle you didn't, how long do you think you can take care of a baby in this hellhole?" A mental image of crazies tearing apart a newborn flashed in her mind's eye, making her shudder. "It would be better off dead. So just…just take the goddamned pill, okay?"

Lana turned away, but she still saw the girl meekly swallow the pill out of the corner of her eye. "We have to go get more of those soon," she whispered softly. "I'll let Aizawa know. You gonna stay up here?"

Misa nodded silently, a few fat tears falling from her eyes.

Lana couldn't get out of there fast enough—especially since her body was still coursing with pent-up adrenaline and shock from what she had just seen. Despite her empathy for the girl, she still felt out of her depth when confronted with Misa's tears. Lana had never been a particularly emotional person, especially with others around. And after all the shit she had seen in the past seven years, it seemed she had become even more emotionally constipated than she already was. _Why bother trying to help anyone through their problems now? Nothing is ever going to change_, Lana thought. They were all stuck here on this godforsaken continent, and no amount of declarations of sympathy or _I'm here for you_s or _We'll get through this!_ would change that fact.

You just had to learn to deal with what you've got, as Lana's father had once told her. Or you would kill yourself. Don't waste time wishing that things could be different.

Ironically, Lana had even begun to feel as though things were becoming somewhat…mundane around Waterfront. Sure, she still had recurring nightmares of her old life (as well as vivid dreams of slitting Yagami's throat), but those things were never going to happen; Lana had become very good at prioritizing over the past few years, and had deduced that her number one goal was to stay alive as long as possible.

Returning to the past was _im_possible, and while killing her boss was tempting, living on the diseased and shit-infested streets was most definitely_ not_ conducive to survival.

_Let's play the survival game…_

Lana traipsed down the stairs, a loud yawn reminding her of her lack of sleep.

All traces of tiredness vanished as soon as she got back downstairs, however.

Standing in front of the bar and talking avidly to a very flustered Matsuda was…a woman.

She was lithe, with long dark hair and a professional air about her. She provided the perfect contradictory appearance: her frigid facial expression and proud demeanor contrasted sharply with her rumpled gray slacks and dress shirt.

Lana approached her curiously. "Um…can I help you?" she said offhandedly.

The woman turned to her, her eyes barely revealing the faintest hint of surprise at Lana's appearance before reverting back to their businesslike aura.

"My name is Naomi Misora. Who runs this establishment?"

* * *

**The lyrics for the song that Stripes played are from "Waiting for the Worms" by Pink Floyd, circa 1979. **

**First of all, let me say I don't hate Misa's character. I actually feel bad for her, even if I would never make the choices she did.  
**

**I am going to try to put most of the canon characters in this story, and don't worry-L is going to make his debut next chapter, so be on the lookout for that. I usually update once a week.  
**

**Anyway, thank you for reading and please drop a review if you have anything to say. I apologize if anyone is offended by this chapter.  
**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	5. Hidden by Brambles

**Author's Note: Finally, L enters the fray! Sorry it took so long for L to be introduced; I just wanted to make sure I set up everything perfectly. I hope you like how I set it up. Like I said in one of my previous Author's Notes, L is still a detective and is currently in England with Watari. Wammy's House still exists, and B went there. That's about all the similarity this has to the canon universe, though. You'll see what I did with the rest of the characters soon enough. **

**Secondly, just let me say that L is a very difficult character to pin down. I hope I didn't do a terrible job. Be sure to give me feedback if you think there's anything terribly wrong. Just know that I tried my best.**

**Warnings: Violence/Blood/Carnage, dead bodies, Profanity. This chapter isn't so bad. **

**FUN FACT: The chapter titles are all important and related to a certain theme/event of the story. See if you can locate what it is, if you want.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Hidden by Brambles**

"Watari, may I have another piece of cake?"

The young man asking that question was, ironically enough, as skinny as a rail. He sat perched on the edge of his computer chair as an owl does on a tree, his pale face partially obscured by tufts of inky black hair. Anyone who saw him—though that number was few and far between—would have said that he was a recluse, though it wasn't quite as simple as that.

Anyone with more than a few million-dollar hits out on their person (as well as a minimal amount of common sense) would want to avoid contact with the outside world as much as possible.

And for L, the most renowned detective in the entire world, it was no different.

Currently, the investigator wasn't working on any cases…well, except for one, though it was not technically recognized by any country as workable or even official. The suspect in question had already been written off as dead.

L knew better, though. He had known B for a long time. He would not die so easily.

A man dressed properly in a suit and tie strode quietly into the room, brandishing a small salver of chocolate cake. He was old and mustachioed, and was also carrying a manila folder tucked under his armpit. "Here you are, Ryuuzaki," he said, placing the cake in front of the detective.

"Thank you, Watari." The man's black eyes darted to the folder for barely a millisecond. "What is that?"

"Something of interest." With barely a flourish, Watari passed off the folder to L, who opened it curiously.

What the young man saw made his eyes widen imperceptibly.

It was a set of photographs; though the images were somewhat blurry, L could still make them out. The series of snapshots showed the progression of a woman with dark hair and a bulky gym bag boarding a two-person jet. However, there was something…off about it. The plane was empty when she got on, and the photos revealed the choppy movement of it taking off shortly afterward.

She had stolen the plane.

_Hmmm…I see_, L thought sullenly. _I know that woman. _

"It seems Agent Naomi Misora has taken some initiative with our case," Watari offered.

"Clearly." L sighed; _what a nuisance_. Though, he supposed it was to be expected. He had done business with the FBI many years before, and had met Agent Misora via computer and Bluetooth. After the fall of the American government and the assisted escape of many of the country's citizens, she had become more acquainted with the isolated detective. L privately thought that she was headstrong and intelligent—two qualities he greatly valued—and was unafraid to stand up to her own government. She had even been one of the most vocal disputers of the abandonment of the BB case.

Still, to go to the most dangerous location on the planet, a site full of people infected with the most vigorous disease in human history—and with no backup—was reckless, even for her.

"Where were these photos taken?" L questioned.

"London City Airport—around 9 o'clock p.m. yesterday. No one was watching the cameras at the time—evidently, the night guard was found hours later, tied up in a custodial closet."

"Am I correct in assuming that the plane will have reached its destination by now?"

"Yes, sir. The plane's coordinates have been recorded at a location just outside Los Angeles in Southern California. It has been static for seventeen hours."

"I see. Well, then it seems I have no choice."

L closed the file, opting for the plate of cake. He took a large bite, savoring the taste—it may be the last freshly baked good he would have for a while.

"Watari, prepare me a plane. I am going to Los Angeles."

* * *

For an FBI agent, Agent Misora had been quite…unexpected. Lana always associated the acronym "FBI" with burly guys in shiny black suits and shades, or intimidating women with razor sharp nails and a questionable record of dead husbands (neither of which Agent Misora had, as far as she could tell).

Stereotypical assumptions aside, living with the woman for the past few days had been anticlimactic. For starters, she was quiet. Lana only ever heard her talk about one thing—and even then, the conversation had consisted mostly of questions.

* * *

_Three days ago…_

"Um…who are you?"

"I am Agent Naomi Misora of the FBI." She flashed her badge at the other woman, clearly annoyed. "Now who is in charge here?"

Lana gulped. "Matsuda, go get Light."

"Okay," the scruffy-haired man scuttled off upstairs.

"He'll be down in a minute." Lana gestured to the bar. "Want a drink?"

"No thank you."

_Well, this is awkward_. "Well…is there anything I can help you with?"

Despite living on the fringe for seven years, Lana Turk had still not gotten over her inherent distrust of authority figures; she was sure it showed in her face, but she still tried to remain civil.

Agent Misora looked at her with a thoughtful expression. "Perhaps you can. You live around here, right?" Lana nodded. "Have you seen anyone suspicious?"

This drew a hearty laugh from the scarred woman's chest. "You're gonna have to be more specific, Agent. Everyone here looks sketchy as hell."

Misora pursed her lips, then reached into her pocket. A folded photograph was in her hand, and she handed it to Lana. "This is the man I'm looking for. It is very important that I find him. He is dangerous."

The man in the picture was skinny, with dark spiky hair. He had pale skin with dark bags around his eyes. Even his image gave the brunette chills all up and down her spine.

Who was this man?

"He hasn't been here long—no more than two months."

"Wait," Lana interjected, "what do you mean, 'hasn't been here?' You mean L.A.?"

"No. I mean on this continent."

Lana's breath caught in her throat. "What? How did he—how did you—?"

"Excuse me, Miss," Light's voice interrupted Lana's stuttering. "Can I assist you?"

The FBI agent stepped closer to Light, reaching out to shake his hand. The two began conversing as they walked away, leaving Lana standing dumbfounded by the bar. She probably looked stupid, but was not currently conscious of that fact. All she could think about was that, somehow, Agent Misora and this man—whatever his name was—had gotten here.

And that meant there had to be a way back.

* * *

_Current time..._

Everyone else had already gone downstairs to get ready for the fights that evening.

Yet Lana sighed from her cot, somehow feeling worse than she had in a while. For an unknown reason, she did not feel like even getting out of bed; she was tired and drained of energy, her eyelids heavy.

_Why am I feeling like this? Nothing's changed since Naomi's gotten here. Maybe it's from all the drinking…_

Thinking about liquid was obviously a bad idea, since it made the pressure on Lana's bladder all the more painful. "Goddammit," she mumbled irately, deciding to finally go downstairs if only to take a piss before the fight.

As she was walking down the hallway, she heard a very familiar sound coming from the closet.

Light and Takada were discussing something in hushed voices. Leaning closer, Lana could detect a hint of hostility in the other woman's tone.

"…because I don't trust her, Light. How can you let an FBI agent in here? Have you forgotten what it is we do?"

"Do not worry about her, Takada. Agent Misora is simply an invaluable asset, nothing more. She will not harm us."

"How do you know? What can she do for us besides give us some of the supplies she has?"

"She is an FBI agent. She has connections back on one of the other continents. Don't you see the implication?" There was a moment of silence as Light paused to savor the sound of his own voice. "She got here somehow—I'm guessing by ship or by plane."

"Obviously."

"That means there's a way back; we can get out of here if we stay on her good side."

"I see…and if she refuses to take us back with her?"

"Well then…we hold her hostage. I'm sure the FBI won't let one of their remaining agents be killed so easily. We will demand that her associates agree to let us go with them. Or, we'll simply kill her and steal whatever she's got. Though I hope it doesn't have to come to that."

"And if we get caught?"

"Then I'll take all the blame, of course."

"You're really willing to sacrifice your freedom so that I can escape?"

"Of course, Takada. You've been a very faithful companion for all these years."

Lana was starting to feel sick. She had known that Light was a scheming douchebag, but who knew that Takada was also in on everything with him?

With her mind reeling and her hands clenched into fists of rage, she stole downstairs before they could come out and see her.

* * *

Night had fallen, the crowd was cheering outside, and Lana was almost ready for her match.

Itzel was just finishing up wrapping the brunette's hands in the room backstage. "Why d'ya wear these things, anyway?"

"Force of habit. I always wrapped my hands before sparring—it lessens the damage to my knuckles."

"Look at ya, girly. Yer a pro."

Lana scoffed, flexing her wrapped knuckles. "Not really. I never got a chance. I was still an amateur fighter when everything happened. Besides, I've gotten the shit kicked out of me before."

"Yeah, but not as much as some of the other women here. And ya don't pack heat. If Yagami didn't let that bitch Takada use weapons she never woulda won any of her fights."

"Hmph. Maybe."

Lana was having trouble thinking at the moment, her thoughts currently occupied by what she had overheard in the hallway a few minutes before.

_Should I warn Agent Misora? Tell her to get out? Would she be better off on her own? I mean, she did get here by herself, but what would Light do if she tried to leave? _

The brunette had a pretty good idea.

"Okay. Yer all done."

"Thanks, Itzel."

"Don't mention it, girly. S'bout time for ya to fight. Get on out there."

Lana stood up slowly, cracking her neck and swinging her arms back and forth as she walked out of the dressing room and into the stale hallway. Just as she was turning to walk towards the stage, a voice whispered into her ear.

"Lose."

"What?" she swiveled her head slightly, her good eye coming to rest on Light's cold gaze.

"Lose to Takada. Try to make it look real. And tell no one. Do you understand?"

Lana opened her mouth to protest, but her words died in her throat.

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Light breezed by her, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

_What the hell? Why does he want me to lose to her on purpose? Can't she take care of herself? Unless…_

_Has Light been fixing Takada's matches this whole time? _

It did make a lot of sense. The Japanese woman had not had as many matches as the rest of the women—but when she did, she had never lost. Lana had never considered it; after all, she had never fought Takada herself before. The woman arrived there about three years ago, and there were at least thirty other fighters. Not to mention the fact that Light tended to pair Takada with the shorter, slimmer ones.

_So what's changed? Why is he having me fight Takada now? Is it just to mess with me? _

_Or does he have something else up his sleeve? _

The brunette's heart was pounding angrily in her chest as she walked to the side entrance of the stage. From where she was standing, Lana could not see the crowd, but she was able to hear it. A plethora of masculine voices could be heard shouting from beyond the maroon curtain that obscured her. She dimly perceived Mogi's booming voice as he called out the names of the two women who would be fighting.

"Welcome to Waterfront! We've got a great show for you tonight…"

Both Takada's and Lana's names were called, and in an instant, she thrust herself onto the stage. The octagon suddenly enveloped her, the silver metal that constructed it made painfully bright by the multiple candlelights beating down from above.

On the other side of the cage stood Takada, dressed comfortably in black stretch pants and a t-shirt. Lana didn't see any weapons on her.

"Enter," Mogi boomed, shooting Lana an expression of sympathy.

The women stepped into the cage, both of them taking their stances. Lana's was nearly flawless, her left foot place carefully in front of her while her right one stayed behind. She bent her knees slightly, standing lightly on her toes. Her wrapped knuckles were minimally clenched in front of her chin, ready to throw a punch.

Takada's fight stance, however, was atrocious. Her feet were flat, and her tightly clenched fists were held too close to her face.

_How the hell am I going to lose to her?_ Lana thought angrily. _There's no way I can make it look real! _

But Light had told her to, and Lana had an intuitive feeling that things would go badly if she didn't obey.

"Begin!"

As the crowd roared around them, a surge of adrenaline pervaded the brunette's body.

_What am I going to do? _

* * *

L had staunchly refused to let Watari—or anyone else, for that matter—come with him.

It wasn't because he was fearless; he simply didn't want anyone to get in his way. So, he had merely requested that he be given a private jet that he could fly (in secret, of course) to the location of Naomi Misora's hijacked plane.

As it turned out, Agent Misora was quite a competent pilot; she had landed her stolen jet in the open chaparral surrounding one of the main streets—Riverwood, it was called—on the outskirts of Los Angeles. So that was where L landed.

As the small plane touched down, the dark-haired detective promptly activated the miniscule earpiece Watari had given him.

A voice crackled on the other end. _"Hello?"_ the old man asked. _"Have you arrived?"_

"Yes," the detective answered impassively into the microphone hidden in his surgical mask. "My plane has just come to a full stop. From my surroundings, I deduce that I am in a suburban area just outside the city…there is a main street approximately one hundred-and-thirteen feet to my left. I believe Agent Misora must have taken it, given the unfamiliar terrain."

_"Can you deduce which direction she went in?"_

L quickly unfastened his seat belt and exited the flying contraption. He made sure to grab the large bowling bag that contained his meager provisions and handgun. As his clothed feet touched the ground, L was immediately annoyed. He detested wearing shoes. They were too smothering, and distracted him from his work. However, he had concluded, after much analysis, that they were necessary for this case. An infected cut or tetanus could be lethal here.

Slouching and with his hands in his pockets, the pale man made his way over to the main road. L was accustomed to being analytical and objective; not much had ever fazed him. However, he would be unwise not to admit to himself that the scene he was observing was mildly disturbing.

The street was packed with cars, many of them crushed in the morbid likeness of an accordion. Some of the doors were wide open in a testament to those who had been attempting to escape on foot into the city. There was a fair amount of splattered blood on the ground as well.

So what had they been running from?

L's large eyes roamed over the vast expanse of vehicles, coming to focus on something nearly hidden by the crushed metal.

An enormous barbed wire fence loomed ominously over the pile of twisted automobiles that had crashed into it. Amazingly, it had held; it must have been drilled deeply into the ground.

_This is definitely one of those quarantine zones I have heard about for the past few years. Is there anyone alive in there, I wonder? _

Either way, there was only one way to go.

"Agent Misora went towards the city."

_"How do you know, Ryuuzaki?"_  
L chose to ignore Watari's question. "I am heading into the city now, Watari. I shall contact you if I come across anything unusual."

_"Good luck, Ryuuzaki. I cannot help but regret that I did not send someone with you for protection."_  
"That is illogical, Watari. I have all the protection I need. Sending anyone else would have been a waste of time and resources."

_"Understood, Ryuuzaki. Please check back in by nightfall."_

There was an audible click, and L was alone. That was good. L didn't much feel like conversing right now, anyway.

He turned away from the fence, sauntering in the direction of the city.

He did not take notice of the large hole in the fence, for it was currently hidden by brambles.

* * *

There were a lot of corpses.

This was one of the many things L noticed as he was walking, and L generally noticed a great deal of things.

For example, the streets were abandoned, but the buildings were not. Not all of them, at any rate. On occasion, the wandering man would pass by an old apartment complex, house, or old shop, and would look up to see a pair of wide, paranoid eyes burning into his own.

No one ever came down, though. He idly wondered why, since no one dangerous appeared to be outside; all of those who were infected were still in the quarantine zones, if any had survived at all. And he highly doubted that if any of the sick were in the city, they would hole themselves up in an apartment. The nature of PHD was aggression, and aggression led to violence, not cowering in a room.

_But still…it seems as though something is off-kilter. Perhaps they know something I do not? _

L was pulled from his musings by the sound of sloshing water.

A man, soaking wet and naked but for a pair of ragged boxers, stumbled into L's path. "Oh, wow!" the man yelled, apparently amazed at the detective's presence. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"Perhaps I should be asking you that."

The man blushed, his shoulder-length hair seeming to curl at the tips. "My name is Matsuda. I work down the street. Where are you going? Do you live around here?"

"Kindly stop asking me questions." L paused. "You may call me Ryuuzaki, if you like. Now did you say you worked somewhere around here?"

"Yeah. At the casino. There's a match tonight, actually. It's going to start soon, if you wanna come. But you have to pay with supplies—you know, water or food, or gasoline. Stuff like that. Money's not really valuable anymore."  
"Obviously."

"So…Ryuuzaki, you want to come? My boss says I should try to get more customers."

L stared at him, his unblinking gaze making the man fidget. "Yes. Lead the way."

* * *

Given the circumstances, there was a substantial two-point-three percent chance of Agent Misora being at a casino, and L had never liked to ignore any possibilities. Besides, his percentile calculations had not been wrong yet.

However, he was also extremely uncomfortable at the moment. L had given Matsuda two bottles of water for admission—a decision that he was now beginning to regret. Waterfront Inn &amp; Casino was packed tightly with customers, all of whom were cheering noisily. The antisocial detective hated large crowds—they also tended to distract him from his work.

It did not help in the least that many of the men here were using profane language.

L trudged awkwardly over to the bar, where Matsuda was wiping down the counter with a cloth. The quiet man nodded to the bartender. "Hello."

"Hi there, Ryuuzaki! Not bored yet, I hope? The match is going to start soon-"

"What kind of match is it?"

"Oh, it's a cage fight. You didn't know? I thought everyone had heard of this place around here."

"I am afraid I have never been to a cage fight before, nor have I been in this part of town."

"Oh! Well then welcome! I was wondering why I'd never seen you before—"

"Matsuda, do you enjoy working here?"  
"Huh?"

"Did you not hear me? Quite sorry. I asked if you did not like working here."

"Well, you know, you gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. I'm friends with some of the fighters, and I don't like seeing them get hurt, but…"

"But you have nowhere else to go?"

"…Yeah."

"I see." L paused. "You said you have friends here. Have you seen—"

Just then, a booming voice reverberated throughout the room, cutting off the detective's interrogation. A large man was calling out the names of the fighters—Takada and Emerson.

As the two of them entered the cage, L could not help but to be slightly shocked. Both of them were women. The thin one—Takada, he presumed—was quite an average-looking brunette.

But the other, Emerson, caught his eye. The visual of her face from this distance was a bit difficult to make out, but L's observant eyes caught it. A long scar adorned one half of her face, making her look perpetually angry. Her hair was long and wild, and on her face was an expression so serious that it was hard to imagine that she had ever smiled.

She definitely attracted attention from the rest of the crowd as well.

"_Go, Emerson! Tear that skinny bitch apart!" _

Out of the corner of his eye, L detected a familiar movement. Turning quickly, he saw another woman watching the spectacle as the two fighters took their stances. Her posture revealed that she was uncomfortable as well, and L saw her turn around and enter what appeared to be a door leading to a staircase.

Although the detective only saw the back of her head, there could be no mistaking that dark hair.

L began weaving his way through the dense crowd just as one of the girls charged the other.

"Hey! Where are you going?" L ignored Matsuda's question. It seemed his two-point-three percent estimate had been justified after all.

He had found Agent Misora.

* * *

Lana had not expected the taller girl to charge her as soon as Mogi gave the signal. She had fought many people before, but she had never lost on purpose—so she was understandably caught off guard by Takada's hasty (and sloppy) attack.

Nevertheless, she dodged it, but purposely avoided countering with a right straight in fear of going overboard. Instead, Lana seized the chance to gain some distance, lapsing back into her fight stance.

Takada whirled around, a scowl on her face.

The two women circled each other, oblivious to the roar of the crowd around them.

* * *

Meanwhile, Matsuda and Itzel, who had just emerged from backstage, watched from the sidelines.

A frown was on the biracial woman's face. "What the hell's up with Emerson? She could've knocked that bitch out…" Her frown deepened. _It almost looks like…she's goin' easy on her. Why?_

The large woman noticed that other spectators were starting to catch on as well.

"Come on, Emerson!"

"Tear her apart!"

_What are ya doin', girly?_

* * *

Lana felt as though she were on trial. She mentally went through her repertoire of moves, searching for ones that even Takada could conceivably block.

_Make it look real. Make it look real. _

Suddenly, Takada charged again, and the scarred woman prepared to dodge to the right…

…only to be surprised when a sharp pain lanced through her left shoulder.

_What the…?_

Lana whipped around in time to dodge under the knife that the short-haired woman had swung haphazardly. She dove left and down, rolling over her shoulder and up to her feet, then twisted around to face her opponent once again.

So she did have a weapon on her.

_Great._

_Is Light trying to kill me?_ The thought may have been funny if it weren't entirely possible.

If Lana lost on purpose, she may well end up losing her life.

_I really should have expected this._

"What's wrong, Em?" Takada teased, a snide grin on her face. "Why don't you come after me? Afraid you'll lose?" She sounded calm, her lips twisted into a gruesome smirk. Her eyes seemed to be lit up with sadistic fire. "Afraid I'll cut your other eye, like Mommy did?"

Time stopped for Lana Turk. All thoughts of mercy for the woman before her ceased, replaced by a single question:

_How does she know? I only ever told Aizawa…he must've told Light, and…_

She didn't get to finish her thought. Because in all her time at Waterfront, she had never felt so emotionally exposed as she did at that moment.

And that made Lana very, very angry, indeed.

Her order from Light flew out the window as soon as Takada charged her a third time. The knife was pointed straight at her stomach, but that meant nothing to her.

Faster than Takada could pierce her skin, Lana grabbed her wrist, squeezing until the woman released a strained groan. The blade clattered to the floor.

The incensed woman threw a punch, her fist colliding with Lana's cheekbone with a dull thud. It hurt, but not enough to stop her.

Lana grabbed Takada's forearm and back, hugging her body to hers tightly. Then, with a swift sweep of her foot, Takada's legs were knocked out from under her.

"Oof!" she exclaimed as her back hit the wood.

Still not quite conscious of her actions, Lana mounted her, her right hand delivering a solid punch to Takada's nose. Blood once again spurted from the organ, some of it getting on Lana's wrappings. She punched her again, her breathing choppy and rapid. More blood painted her knuckles. Lana's blind rage controlled her body despite the protests of her logical mind.

_Light will kill you if you kill her. Stop_.

**Keep hitting her.**

_You've never killed anyone! Don't do this!_

**She insulted your family. This feels good. **

_No it doesn't! _

_Stop!_

_I'm a good person! _

The brunette wasn't quite sure when Mogi pulled her off of the now-unconscious Takada, or when he had taken her backstage to Itzel, who was now unwrapping her bloodied knuckles.

Lana's face was wet. Was she crying? Or was it Takada's blood?

"Ya all right, girly?"

She didn't say anything.

"Thought I'd lost ya for a minute. You knocked her out cold, though."

"I'm screwed, Itzel."

"Whaddya say?"

Lana shut her eyes tightly. "I'm screwed. Light's going to kill me. He told me…to lose to her."

"He told ya to lose?" Itzel's movements ceased, and she dropped the dirtied wrappings into a bin. "I guess I'm not surprised. He plays favorites."

"He's going to kill me. How could I be so _stupid_?"

Lana wished she could sock herself in the face. "I need to get out of here before he finds me. I need to…" She trailed off, her heartbeat drowning out all of her surroundings. Was she having a panic attack?

"Shh, girly. Calm the fuck down." Itzel grabbed Lana's chin roughly, turning her face so that they made eye contact. "Go upstairs. Grab yer shit. I'll distract Light; he's still in the kitchen with Piper and Takada."

Lana's eyes widened. "But…what about you? He'll figure out that you helped me…"

"Well, don't be too hasty! I'ma comin' with ya, of course. Now get a move on."

In an instant, the panicked brunette was alone. She hadn't moved so fast in a long time. Lana all but flew upstairs, her feet moving almost as fast as the pulses of her own heart.

She darted into the hallway on her floor—

-and was stopped dead in her tracks.

A tall, skinny man stood with his back to her, his slouched posture making him look as though he were several inches shorter. His black hair was spiked, contrasting sharply with his immaculate white shirt and jeans.

As Lana stepped out of the staircase, his head turned to look at her, an analytical expression on his pale face. Two large dark eyes met her own, a quizzical gleam weaving its way into their image. He clearly hadn't been expecting anyone to come up here.

Yet it wasn't the strangeness of his features that made Lana's heart stop its rapid pounding: it was their haunting familiarity.

It was _him_. He was the man in the picture that Agent Misora had showed her. _He_ was the criminal.

She stepped closer to him, lifting her hands up in a defensive posture. "Who the hell are you?"

* * *

**Just to be clear, that_ was_ L at the end. _Not_ B. Lana just thinks it's B because they look similar. Well, I hope anyone wasn't too disappointed-don't worry, Lana and L will have more contact in the chapters to come! And something crazy might go down, too.**

**I don't actually know if L can fly a plane, but since he can fly a helicopter I assumed that he also has other hidden skills we don't know about. And for the purpose of this story, Naomi is also a trained pilot (though she prefers to be an FBI agent).**

**Thanks for reading, and be sure to leave a review if you liked it. And even if you didn't.  
**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	6. As the Buzzing of a Wasp

**Author's Note: Hello! A quick shout-out to my loyal reviewers, WildfireDreams and WhiteLadyDragon, and those who followed this story. Thank you EvilRandomCrazyPerson, FireWolfAbianvi, Hetomi, WhiteLadyDragon, and draconisnoire43! Your support means a lot to me.  
**

**I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, as it includes probably one of the most awkward (and dangerous) meetings ever. Also, enjoy more BB. He gets kind of creepy in this chapter (just in case he wasn't creepy enough already).  
**

**Warnings: Dead Bodies, Violence, Voyeurism, Profanity. **

* * *

**Chapter 6: As the Buzzing of a Wasp**

Today was not a good day.

Beyond Birthday was tired of eating the stale granola bars he had taken from home. Sure, he had managed to find a fair amount of canned goods and water bottles hidden in the basement of one of the houses a few streets back—as well as some preserved jars of strawberry jam to replenish the supply he had stolen before swimming the mile to Los Angeles from an Alaskan boat. (He was almost certain the old grocery store clerk he had taken them from originally would never notice.)

Yet endless repetition was nearly maddening. Despite his love for the fruity preserves, having so much to consume was a bit pressuring.

Some would say that this was the least of his problems, however.

Right now, B was on the lookout for another sample. Since the blonde woman he had saved last week, B had been wandering up and down the streets of Los Angeles; he only traveled at night, and made sure to stick to the shadows. B loved the dark, and even though some of the infected were wandering the streets again, he knew that he would fare just perfectly. As long as he stayed in the dark, he would be able to take down any rabid human before it could get him.

But at that moment, he was just searching for a place to spend the night.

B was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear the noise until he was right in front of the building.

Raucous laughter and cheers came from inside the large establishment, strings of choice words playing tetherball with B's eardrums.

The man started, excitement striking through him as though a match had been lit.

_People! There are real, uninfected people here! _

But he didn't dare go inside—not yet, at least. There was no logical way for him to kidnap someone from so crowded a place; he would have to wait for it to die down a bit.

B casually glanced up at the sign above the entrance. _Waterfront Inn &amp; Casino. Hmm. Strange name. Oh, well. I guess I'll have to find someplace to stay down the street. I do need my privacy, after all. _

A few blocks down, B happened upon a filthy-looking lake.

_How disgusting. I bet all of the people around here relieve or bathe themselves in it. No, thank you. _

Absentmindedly, the maniac looked across the street—and there, in all of its underappreciated glory, was a large building dubbed Santa Maria High School. B idly wondered if he should risk going inside—would there be a lot of people in there, squatting?

_If there are, I can just hide and kill them off one by one. _

With that pleasant thought B waltzed across the street, weaving between and around the empty (and thankfully sparse) cars. Unsurprisingly, the front doors were locked; B went around to the staff parking lot, and climbed expertly over the chain-link fence.

And he was in.

Whistling a merry tune, Beyond Birthday traipsed down the gum-riddled hallways, the pungent scent of mildew and rat feces making his nostrils itch. He walked around the school until he reached the cafeteria.

It was vacant, completely abandoned save for the communities of rodents and cockroaches that had congregated in the cracked tiles.

_I wonder why no one is here_, he mused as he maneuvered around the lunch tables, heading towards the door marked STAFF. _There's bound to be food or water back here. _

That door _was_ unlocked—well, technically it had been picked, but badly enough to have rendered the lock essentially useless.

When B stepped inside, he understood why nobody was in here.

The scent of decaying remains amidst a fainter odor of spoiled milk set off a switch in his brain, and his keen eyes immediately found the source. Anyone else would have vomited at the sight, he was certain.

Two skeletons, one small and feeble, the other of a more adult size, were lying spread-eagled in the center of the room. The bigger one appeared to be clutching the other close to itself, as if it were terrified of letting it go. Although the flesh of both had long since been rotted away by decomposers, dark bloodstains still sat under their bodies.

Cans of food that had been either dropped or knocked over were scattered all over the floor, as were old school lunches that remained unwrapped. Someone had left in a hurry—but it was obviously a long time ago.

_Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is if any of this food is still edible. I cannot afford to be picky. _

B began checking the expiration dates on all of the fallen cans: some of them were still good; others had long since gone bad. Still others, namely the vegetables, were bloated and bulbous on the tops and bottoms, and those B put aside. He had no wish to die of botulism.

B's day was made when he spied something that gleamed out of the corner of his eye. On the floor next to the adult skeleton's hand was…

…_a set of keys? Curious._ He picked them up, scanning them thoroughly. A small slip of paper had been taped to one of them.

It read, in clear black handwriting:

CHEM LAB A

Reynoso

_A chemistry lab…how delightful! I dabbled in some chemistry texts and experiments at Wammy's House a few years back. I wonder if there are any chemicals left in there. I may have found a perfect place to conduct more experiments…_

As Beyond Birthday sat next to the deceased bodies of a father and child in gleeful anticipation, a most glorious and fruitful idea entered his mind.

A most glorious idea indeed.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?"

When the man responded, his voice was monotone and smooth as the buzzing of a wasp. "I do not think it appropriate for you to address me in such a callous manner. I have not done anything insulting to you, have I?"

Lana glared daggers at the man. "You're insulting me by being up here! And I wouldn't act so high and mighty if I were you. You're not in a very good position."

The stranger cocked his shaggy head, but his impassive expression did not change. "And why is that?"

"I know who you are. Agent Misora showed me a picture of you."

"Did she? You have come in contact with Agent Misora?"

He took a step forward, and the fighter reflexively tensed.

"And what did she tell you?"

"That you were a dangerous criminal. Luckily I'm used to beating the crap out of people like you."

Yes, Lana was putting on an arrogant façade—but who wouldn't, in that situation? Yet the man didn't seem fazed in the slightest, and this, coupled with his unusual manner of speaking, unnerved her.

"I noticed that. I saw you fighting not too long ago. It would have been quite entertaining, were I entertained by such things and not already preoccupied with someone else."

The brunette growled. "Shut it. Stop changing the subject."

"You are correct. Perhaps speaking to you is a waste of my time. You are obviously close-minded to have believed that I am a criminal based on the testimony of one person whom you do not know well. In any case, I can find Agent Misora perfectly well on my own."

The bizarre stranger turned away from her, resuming his apparent search for the FBI agent.

"No!" Lana fumed, and before she realized what she was doing, she had pounced at him.

She tightly gripped his white shirt, slamming him harshly into the wall next to her. Her hands fisted up the cloth by his collar, holding him in place.

"I'm not going to let you hurt her." _She's my only way out of here._

The man stared coldly down at her; he didn't even look surprised. He stared at her scraped knuckles, still completely calm—but his voice was ominous. "I must warn you: I am much stronger than I look. I do not wish to hurt you."

"Right back at you. Agree to walk away right now and I'll let you go."

He blinked once, his dark eyes boring into her own. "I am afraid that is impossible, given the circumstances. I did warn you."

With a surge of strength that did not fit the appearance of his skinny body, the slouched man shook Lana off of him, shoving her a few feet away. She barely managed to avoid the head kick that he aimed at her right after, dodging under it and retaliating with a body kick of her own.

He caught her foot, pulling it close to his abdomen and catching the brunette off guard. She growled, yanking her foot away.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, a bored tone to his voice.

"Not even close."

There was no way she was going to let this creep go anywhere near Agent Misora.

She ran at him, feinting a left hook. He reached up to block it—

-only to be caught off guard by a sickening thud from her right fist. At the last minute, he had managed to dodge the worst of the hit, but he was still forced backward. His back hit the wall just as Lana registered the sound of three pairs of footsteps coming quietly up the stairs.

The door behind them opened, and the pair turned to look at the people who had entered. Lana's stomach sank to her feet.

Light, Itzel, and Aizawa all stood in front of them; a grim expression enveloped the Hispanic woman's face as she stood next to Light, whose emotionless mask seemed to spell doom for all those who dared to cross him.

_Oh, no. _

"Emerson, what is going on here?"

"I…I was just…."

"Picking a fight with one of our customers? Granted, he is not allowed to be up here, but do you think it is within your jurisdiction to be calling the shots?"

Lana's mouth was dry as a bone.

"Aizawa, take out your gun."

_Oh, no. Oh shit. _

The frizzy-haired henchman hesitated, staring at the scarred woman with an expression akin to panic.

"Aizawa! I said to _take out your gun_."

Slowly, the Afro-man obeyed, removing his pistol from the waistband of his pants.

"Now point it at Shankman."

"No!" Lana protested. "No way! Why her? She didn't do anything!"

Aizawa obeyed reluctantly, his hand shaking.

"It doesn't matter," Light said. "You went against me. I can no longer trust you, Emerson. Or Shankman, for that matter, since you two seem to be very close."

"So she is guilty by association?" The stranger had stayed quiet up until that point, but now he spoke up, seeming genuinely curious.

Light gave a toxic smile. "Of course. You must understand completely, sir. I cannot maintain dissidence in my employees."

"So you're just going to blow our heads off?!" Lana looked over at her best friend of seven years, who was attempting to maintain a stoic mask. The brunette could sense her fear, though.

"Oh, no. Of course not. How would that be just? I merely want to make an example out of you two—you, Emerson, in particular." He stepped closer to Lana, the tapping of his dress shoes the only sound that she could hear aside from her own pulse. "I want to give you a choice, Emerson. You can either stay here with Shankman, and I will have Aizawa blow both of your brains out. Or," Lana could feel his sour breath on her face, "you can leave here. Alone. And never come back. A slow, painful death should be much more fitting for you than the quick one brought about by a bullet, no?"

Lana could feel her insides twisting and warping painfully around her heart. She had never seen Light like this. She had seen him get angry on several occasions, but now...he seemed far too calm for her liking. It was disturbing.

"So what will it be? Do you want your friend to die?"

"How do I know you won't kill her anyway, once I leave?"

"I'll be fine, girly!" Itzel interjected, her voice panicked. "Just get outta here!"

"You heard her. She's made a good point, don't you think?"

"Think about it logically, Emerson." The criminal from Naomi's picture spoke up again, his voice still nonchalant. "If you stay, you both have a guaranteed one hundred percent chance of dying. If you leave, you both have an approximate three-point-eight-six percent chance of staying alive for at least three months."

"I hate to agree with this jackass, but he makes a good point." Itzel snarled. Lana mentally agreed with her.

Light now eyed the intruder with mild annoyance. "And what exactly are you doing here, Mr…?"

"Ryuuzaki."

"Mr. Ryuuzaki. Are you aware that customers are not allowed to be up here without my permission?"

"While I freely admit that I was conscious of the fact that my intrusion was a possible violation of privacy, I was not personally informed that it was forbidden."

_Wow. He can bullshit with the best of them. _

Whether or not Light sensed the man's obvious fib (Lana was convinced he did), he did not seem to care. "If you will be so kind as to leave now, Mr. Ryuuzaki, I still have some business to attend to with my employees."

With a cold glance at her boss—Lana got the distinct impression that he didn't like the bronze-haired man very much—Ryuuzaki retreated downstairs, leaving the other four people alone.

"Emerson, have you made your choice?"

She gulped. "I have. When do you want me to leave?"

"Tomorrow at first light would be the latest. Take some time to pack up your things—I have no need for any of your mementos. And if I even see you anywhere near here after that time…I will kill you myself."

* * *

_The next day, approximately 4:32 a.m._

Though she was still in a state of numb shock, Lana's body seemed to be processing her emotional turmoil quite well. Only her hands were shaking as she undid the bow on her sweatpants. She dropped the gray cloth in the grass by the lake, and waded waist-deep into the water. As the cold liquid hugged her, she allowed herself to savor the feeling one last time. This would most likely be her last chance to bathe at all for a long time—if not forever.

_All of this trouble just because I lost my cool at Takada's antagonism. How could I have acted so rashly? I thought I'd learned my lesson. I knew what could happen…am I really that stupid? Apparently so…_

_I need to find somewhere else to go, but where? I can't just wander around aimlessly, not with the fences broken like Stripes said. I'll either get infected or killed._

_What's going to happen to me? I don't know, but I won't let myself die. I can get through this._

_ I will survive. _

So caught up was Lana in her bath time musings that she did not take notice of the pair of eyes that were watching her.

They stared intently at her from the second story of the high school across the street, watching the movements of her naked back.

And they wanted to see more.

* * *

B was bored.

He was bored of doing nothing but sitting in the abandoned chemistry lab, merely thinking about killing and draining the blood of the infected. He was bored with the constant search for more of the dying, now that he knew that there was a large group of perfectly viable living people right down the street.

He was bored of doing his work; he needed a break. More than anything, he needed to feel alive for a moment.

But the only way to do that was to target someone healthy and living…but who?

From where B was standing in the lab station, it seemed as though an angel had granted his wish.

He had been looking through the grimy window, watching the disgustingly ironic beauty of the poisoned lake across the street, when he saw a woman with dark hair. She was walking towards the large body of water, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a wife beater.

_How curious. Not many people go outside during the day. I wonder what she is up to. _

B's question was answered when she began stripping herself of all of her clothes, placing each article on the ground in a neat pile. His eyes widened, having never seen a fully naked woman before.

He was not disappointed, but more surprised that he wasn't. He had never given any real thought to the notion of female attractiveness in a traditional sense; more in a kind of sadistic way. This image proved him wrong.

Although he could not see her face from this distance, what with her back turned to him, he was able to decipher the contours of her feminine frame—and they were quite delightful, to say the least. Perhaps she was not as alluring as the enchanting image of slicing into someone's body, but she was captivating nonetheless.

Her curves were soft, but still looked firm and tan. _What a fine specimen. It would be amazing to cut into those curves…to watch her scream…_

B felt himself getting flustered as he thought about how even more beautiful she would look dripping with blood, and how erotic her cries for mercy would be.

He stopped his very gratifying train of thought as he observed her getting out of the lake, slipping her clothes back onto her rapidly drying body. She walked back the way she had come, and B watched her until she disappeared inside the same building he had wandered by last night.

_So that's where she lives. Perfect. This will make it much easier, even if there are other people around. _

The excited man spun around on his heels, surveying the myriads of chemicals and scientific tools he had at his disposal. Most of them were caked with dust and allergens, but they would do.

He began flying around the room, picking up beakers, test tubes, and plastic bottles filled with an array of unknown liquids and powders. Even if he did not have all the chemicals in the world, B knew he had enough amassed chemical knowledge from Wammy's House to be able to make do with what he did have.

It was time to put his training to good use.

* * *

"Light? Where are you?"

Kiyomi Takada was pissed off.

She also had a broken nose and a busted lip, as well as a vicious migraine running rampant through her skull.

She had woken up this morning after the fight to a slap on the cheek. Even though Piper had only been trying to rouse her, she had still chewed the curly-haired woman out viciously.

Now she was busy looking for the man whose harebrained plan (though she would never say it to his face) had fallen through. She had a broken nose, for Christ's sake!

"Light!" she yelled once more, knocking on his private bedroom on the eighth floor—the room she rarely got to see. He was a very private man. It would have been a cause for concern for the short-haired woman—the fact that he did not want her in his room—were she to not already count herself lucky that he had chosen her in the first place. He was a powerful, charismatic man, after all, and Takada was attracted to power. She always had been; and the mere fact that he was helping to keep her alive was an added bonus.

"Light? Are you in there?"

There was a short silence; then, "Come in, Takada."

She stepped inside, the scent of cologne adrift in the air. Light was standing in front of the full-body mirror reserved for the suite rooms, looking pristine as always.

Takada, meanwhile, was fuming. "What the hell happened back there, Light? I thought we agreed that you were going to tell her to lose to me so I could kill her!"

"I did, my dear. She just disobeyed."

"So kill her now, then. I saw her go downstairs to bathe a few minutes ago. Are you going to allow her to stay here?"

"Of course not. She shall be expelled tomorrow, or she will be killed immediately."

Takada gaped like a fish. "Why? Why are you giving her a chance to survive? I know she deserves to suffer, but I would much rather you just shoot her in the head and get on with our plans. She is too much of a nuisance." Something suddenly dawned on her. "Unless…you've got something else up your sleeve?"

Light gave an impressed smile. "I agree. I always thought she was too nosy for her own good—and the fact that she was eavesdropping on our discussion of our plans for Agent Misora clinches that."

The bronze man turned to face her, cupping her cheek with one hand. "However, I always did like a chase. I will send Aizawa out after her. The next day, her dead body will be out in front of this building to serve as a warning to all those who may have thought of leaving or defecting. We'll show them that they truly are much better off here than out there. Isn't that right, Takada?"

* * *

L had seen a lot of things, and hidden in a lot of unsavory places for the purpose of solving a case, but his current location took the figurative cake. He could safely say that he had never been forced to hide out in an alcohol storeroom.

It hadn't been difficult to infiltrate, however. The detective had simply snuck past the upbeat bartender while his back was turned.

And now, hours later, he was stuffed uncomfortably between the counter and an ancient liquor cabinet that smelled faintly of rotted wood, pondering his next course of action.

_I must talk to Naomi. But how? I cannot reveal my presence to the owner without risk of being thrown out, or worse. He is quite a barrier; if we were anywhere else in the world I would have liked to have him arrested by now. In any case, I need to find someone else. The bartender? Hm. Maybe not. I am not so sure he would readily betray his boss. He seems to genuinely fear the man. _

As it turned out, L didn't need to do anything.

Before he could move, the door to the storeroom was shouldered open by a short blonde girl with two small pigtails atop her head. She headed for the liquor cabinet, stopping mid-reach when she saw the odd man crouching beside it.

The girl shrieked, her hands going up to clutch at her chest.

"Excuse me," he said politely.

"W-who are you?!"

"Sorry to startle you. You see, I am stuck."

"Really? How'd that happen? You weren't trying to steal booze, were you? Light will get mad!" Her voice was high and cheerful, and it grated on L's ears.

"Certainly not. I do not drink alcohol; the taste is far too bitter. I merely got lost while I was looking for someone. Tell me: do you know of a woman here named Naomi Misora?"

The girl placed her chin in her hand. L supposed it was intended to be a thoughtful gesture, but it looked very out of place on her.

Her eyes brightened. "Hey, yeah! She got here not too long ago! Why? You guys lovers or something?"

L sighed mentally. "Yes."

The blonde squealed. "Awww! I'm happy to go find her for you, if you want! Just stay here!"

And she was gone.

L sighed out loud, musing on everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. This case was working out better than he'd expected. He had managed to locate Agent Misora in record time. Of course, he was also nearly shot to death by the owner of the establishment that was harboring her—though he considered that to be a minor setback.

Another minor setback was the fact that his face was beginning to swell from that scarred woman's punch. What was her name again? Emerson?

L had to admit, she did pack some significant power in her punches and kicks, though he reasoned that that was to be expected from someone who had been living in a society reduced to cage fights and drinking for entertainment. It almost made him want to go one-on-one with her, if only to see if she could beat him.

But that was just his competitive nature: he hated losing. It bothered him that she had landed a hit on him without him getting to reciprocate.

_Oh, well. I have other, more important, things to worry about. _

In less than five minutes, the blonde girl had returned, the dark-haired FBI agent in tow.

It was definitely her, even if she was somewhat dirty and her clothes marginally stiff.

And from the look on her face when she laid eyes on him, she recognized him as well.

"You!" she yelled, immediately reaching into her belt and drawing her gun.

The blonde girl shrieked again.

"Get out of here!" Naomi demanded of the girl; she quickly did as she was told.

Misora kept her gun trained on the ground, but L knew she was ready to shoot him square between the eyes if need be.

"Beyond Birthday, you are under arrest for the murders of Quarter Queen, Backyard Bottomslash, and Believe Bridesmaid, and for conspiracy to commit murder and a mass extinction event through the use of biological warfare."

_I see. She believes that I am B. Why does everyone think we look alike? _

"Pardon me, Agent Misora, but I am not Beyond Birthday. As a matter of fact, I am looking for him as well."

* * *

Lana's hair was finally clean. The dry shampoo may have smelled like processed baby powder, but at least it served its purpose.

As she headed downstairs to go sit at the bar, she spotted Matsuda diligently cleaning the counters.

"Hey, Matsuda."

"What's up, Em?"

Lana smiled sadly. "Nothing much. Just wanted one last drink before I gotta leave. Think you could do that for me?"

Matsuda frowned, his eyebrows creasing. "What happened? You're leaving?"

"Got kicked out."

"Why? Is it because you beat Takada? But—"

"Don't try to argue, okay? What's done is done. I did something stupid, and now I have to deal with it. I survived this long, didn't I?"

The bartender's eyes were glassy. "Sure, Em." He sniffed. "So what do you want to drink?"

"Can I just get a strong shot of vodka? I don't want to be drunk today."

"Sure thing. Bottle's in the back. I'll go get it real quick."

Out of nowhere, a shrieking Misa burst through the door to the storeroom, dashing past the duo.

"Misa?" Matsuda asked, concerned. He went over to the door, and when he opened it, let out a yelp. "What the?"

"Matsuda? What is it?"

Lana went around to look inside, pushing in front of him.

She nearly gasped.

Agent Misora was holding a gun—and the barrel was pointed at the feet of the disheveled man from earlier. Ryuuzaki, he'd said his name was. The two didn't seem to care that they were being watched; Naomi was busy questioning the pale man.

"You came here _yourself_ to catch Beyond Birthday? That can't be…how do I know you are who you say you are?"

"Do you want verbal proof? Let's see…I know you are an FBI agent engaged to Raye Penber."

"Anyone could know that. It's public news. We were engaged months before Beyond Birthday left."

_Beyond Birthday? Who's that?_  
"Okay then. Something only I would know…I know that you stole a jet from London City Airport precisely four days ago. Would B know that?"

Agent Misora's hand relaxed slightly on the pistol. "It can't be…"

"I have only been here myself for less than a day. My food rations are barely touched, if you care to check. Do I look as if I have been living here for two months, Agent Misora?"

All was silent in the storeroom but for the barrage of questions in Lana's brain.

_So…if he isn't this criminal, this so-called "Beyond Birthday," then…_

_Who is he?_

Lana didn't have time to wonder for long.

Because at that exact moment, a deafening _BOOM_ ripped through the entire building, sending shards of plaster and wood beams cascading around the room.

And her vision was obscured by fire.

* * *

**I figured: Hey, B's a smart guy. He probably has at least _some_ basic knowledge of chemistry (and trust me, that's all you need to blow some shit up). I hope you enjoy this lovely cliffhanger; I'll probably end a lot of my chapters that way. I think it flows nicely. **

**As always, keep on reading and reviewing! I look forward to any comments/feedback anyone has. **

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	7. The Insufferable Man

**Author's Note: Sorry for that cliffhanger, but it had to be done. This is the longest chapter so far, so I hope it was worth the wait. Things will start to pick up from here, and there will be much more one-on-one interaction between L and Lana from now on. I hope you enjoy it, as I myself had fun writing it. Love-hate relationships, in my opinion, are the most interesting ones.  
**

**On another note (no pun intended), I really like reading reviews. I enjoy being able to interact with those who read my stories, so I will try to respond from now on. Just because. **

**To WildFireDreams: Well, hopefully L manages to stop him before it's too late! We'll see...**

**To WhiteLadyDragon: Thank you for the compliment! (Horror was always one of my favorite genres.) **

**And thank you to my new followers, Firefox874 and hannah2088! **

**Warnings: Violence, Death, Angst, Profanity. Lots of angst. **

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Insufferable Man**

_When I was eight, I burned my hand on a hot stove. _

_I can remember reaching out to touch the strange metal circles, and being so enraptured by the foreign strangeness of the object that I didn't stop to think about whether they were hot or not. _

_I was so surprised when a sharp pain shot through my hand that I immediately jerked my tiny fingers back. Ha, even when I was eight I had survival instincts, an innate and biological urge for self-preservation._

_ Though I guess you can say that about anyone. _

_ My father wasn't happy, to say the least. Whether it was because I had hurt myself or just because I had done something stupid, I still don't know. Whatever the reason, he scolded me while rubbing burn lotion on my small red palms. _

_ If I recall correctly, the conversation went something like this:_

_ "Oh, Lana. What am I going to do with you?"_

_ (Tears and snot were drying on my face at that point, and I was still sniffling softly.) _

"_I'm sorry, Daddy. Are you mad at me?" _

_ "I'm annoyed, I'll admit. How are you going to help me around the house if your hands are burned?" _

_(He chuckled at that, and patted me on the back. I was still staring at the floor. My father was a good man, but his off-color jokes often left something to be desired.) _

_ "I'm just joking, Lani. You know that, right?"_

_ (I was a sarcastic little shit, but I still thought that I was stupid, and I asked him if this was so. His response was predictable.) _

_ "Of course not! What on earth gave you that idea?"_

_ "I did something stupid, didn't I? I touched that stove, and look what happened! My hands are going to fall off!"_

_ "No they won't. And yes, you touched the stove, but that doesn't make you stupid. You were just curious, and you made a mistake. It happens to the best of us."_

_ "Really?"_

_ (And then my father said something I have never forgotten to this day.)_

_ "People make all sorts of choices based on fleeting emotions. You just need to learn to distinguish which choices are the right ones. If you are going to take risks, you need to do it for a good reason."_

_ "So touching a stove is a bad choice?"_

_ (He chuckled again.) _

_ "Yes, Lana. That was a bad choice." _

* * *

Everything was burning.

Red and yellow flames danced in Lana's eyes as an earth-shaking impact knocked her off of her feet, her body suddenly weightless as air.

Her world tilted sideways as she fell to the floor, her head smacking the ground with a dull thud. A dull pain and blinding shock shot through her skull as bits of plaster and wood chips clattered noiselessly to the floor, some of them scraping roughly against her skin. She was sure some of the cuts drew blood.

The sheer noise of the explosion seemed to have blown the very sound out of Lana's ears; her eardrums were ringing, a distant sound of bell chimes drowning out everything around her.

All of her surroundings seemed to be moving in blurry slow motion. Everything was fluid and fuzzy; her vision doubled the images that she saw, then tripled them, the disturbing strangeness of the scene reminding her of a bad acid trip. Walls blended into shelves that blended into wisps of smoke and flame, the nonsensical vision instilling in her a deep sense of nausea.

_What happened…?_

Suddenly, something heavy and limp fell on her, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Her mouth opened to release a cry of protest, but she couldn't hear her own voice.

She rolled over, and whatever was on top of her rolled with her, fully covering her body.

Lana froze in horror.

Agent Misora's body was draped over her own, the woman's remaining sightless eye glassy and vacant. Half of her face had been burned horrifically, the skin charred and blackened by the flames. The corners of her unburned flesh were burning an angry red. Her hair was on fire also, as were her clothes. The strange vision made the sight even more terrifying, like something out of a horror movie.

Lana couldn't hear herself scream, but she saw her hands grip Misora's shirt, shoving the body off of her in horror.

She rolled over onto her hands and knees, trying to will herself to get up.

She couldn't.

Lana squeezed her eyes shut tight, berating her own body for failing her.

_Come on! Stop freezing!_ She yelled at her body. _Get up!_

But she was so dizzy, as if her brain had been rattled around in her skull like a carnival fish in a bag.

Sound began to return to her in slow, vibrating waves. She heard distant screams and angry curses, and the crackling of flames. The disgusting scent of burnt hair and flesh was lodged in her throat.

Through the haze, Lana heard her middle name being called.

"Emerson? Emerson! Snap out of it, please!"

A pair of hands were on her shoulders, holding her in a vice-like grip and shaking her roughly.

She opened her eyes.

Matsuda was staring at her, his eyes wide and laced with terror. There was a thin trail of blood tracing his jawline. The image of his mouth moving and the spiky-haired man crouching behind him came to Lana in slow motion. The barman's words reached her through a thick barrier, as though she were wading underwater.

"It seems she received the worst of the blow. Her body is in shock—it looks as though the explosion came from right above where she and Misora were standing. The pipes…"

Ryuuzaki knelt in front of her, and she watched his features swim like a real-life work of Picasso.

"Her equilibrium and kinesthetic sense seems to be disrupted."

His voice echoed oddly. _What?_

"Can you speak?"

_Yes. No_. "Y-Yeah."

"Can you move?"

She twitched her fingers. "Yeah."

"Here. Grab on."

He grabbed one of her arms, draping it across his neck so she could regain her balance. His other arm went around her lower back, and he lifted her up to her feet.

A wave of vertigo hit her, but she stayed upright.

"Walk," he commanded.

She took a step forward, the smell on the air making her want to gag. The smoke was irritating her lungs as well; she felt an overwhelming urge to cough, but fought it off as best she could.

"If you do not wish to burn to death or die of smoke inhalation, I suggest moving faster."

"Shut up. What about…Agent Misora?"

"I am afraid we cannot take her body. Just focus on moving your feet."

_But_, she wanted to say, _we can't leave her here…_

The three of them started coughing as they let the storeroom door swing closed behind them, separating them from their fallen comrade.

"We have to get out of here!" Matsuda cried, cupping his hands over his mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle the smoke that was funneling from the walls and ceiling.

"Agreed."

Lana felt herself being half-dragged, half-stumbling towards the double doors. She was thanking whatever deity had granted her unspoken wish for fresh air when a burst of clarity hit her, causing her eyes to snap open wide in fear.

_No, wait. I can't leave yet. _

_ I can't leave Itzel behind!_

The thought of leaving the Hispanic woman behind caused her to feel even more physically ill than she already did.

She had to go. She had to find her.

_ Come on_, she commanded her body. _Move! We can't leave her here! _

_ Not again…_

"Let go!" she cried, shaking Ryuuzaki's hands off of her. Her outburst startled the man, who released her flailing limbs.

"Let go," she repeated, "I need to go…I need to find Itzel…"

She turned tail and ran as fast as she could, nearly stumbling blind over her own feet as she reached the stairs.

Lana vaguely heard Matsuda call out her name, but she ignored him, only focused on one thing.

_I can't lose anything else important to me_.

It had never been harder to climb a staircase in her entire life.

Smoke was billowing everywhere, the cloudy pillars rising up the stairs and engulfing Lana as she struggled not to pass out. Her eyes were stinging and burning, the acrid gas making it extremely difficult to see, much less run upstairs at breakneck speed.

She grabbed the handrail, hauling herself upward stubbornly.

_ There's no way we're going to die here, Itzel._

Finally, she made it to the top, the familiar hallway now looking much more like a bombsite than a hotel.

"Itzel!"

She screamed at the top of her lungs, but her voice was scratchy and muted. "Itzel?! Where are you?!"

She staggered to her old room with her hand over her mouth, and her heart sank.

The area in front of the doorway was burning, the flames licking hungrily at the doorframe and ceiling. The crackling fire was charring the infrastructure of the building, and the creaking of the hallway alerted Lana to the threat of imminent collapse.

Still, she grabbed at the doorknob blindly—and quickly yanked her hand back as a familiar unbearable heat shot up her palm. She cried out weakly and looked at her palm; it was red and raw.

"Dammit, Itzel! Are you in there?! Answer me!"

Lana pounded on the door with all her might, realizing that her situation seemed horribly familiar.

_Mom?! Mom!_

The sound of shattering glass resonated in the back of her mind, mingling with the dancing flames and whining beams of the building collapsing around her.

And then, she heard a voice.

"Emerson?"

She knew it was Itzel's voice, but it was faint. "Itzel?!"

"What're ya doin' here, girly? Get out!"

Lana was shell-shocked. Was Itzel crazy?

"No way in hell! I'm getting you outta there! Just hold on!"

She desperately looked every which way in the smoky hallway, searching for anything that might help her break down a door.

Nothing. All she had were her sandals and feet.

So she used her hands, fisting them up awkwardly in her shirt to at least create a barrier, no matter how inadequate.

"Hang on, Itzel. I'm coming in!"

"You dumbass! Stay back! This hallway's gonna—"

Just as the scarred woman was about to charge headlong into the room, she felt a pair of hands grab her shoulders, jerking her backwards just as wood beams and plaster shrapnel rained down from the floor above, completely blocking off access to the Hispanic woman.

_No!_

Lana stumbled backwards into someone's chest, two lanky arms wrapping around her as they both fell, landing on the floor with a heavy _thud_.

"Who—?"

She turned her head to scowl at the assailant, and was overcome by shock.

It was _him_—Ryuuzaki, unkempt and with a piece of wet cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth.

Lana reached up to punch at him lazily, but he easily caught her hand.

"You!"

"Emerson? Emerson? You there?" Itzel was calling for her.

"She is fine, but the smoke is beginning to affect her." Ryuuzaki stared at Lana as he spoke; his face was starting to blur again. "I am afraid she will succumb to it if she remains here any longer. Seeing as I cannot get to you, I must leave you behind."

"S'fine with me, mister. Just get her outta here."

Lana felt herself being lifted, though she couldn't be entirely sure—the whole room was spinning. It was most likely that she wasn't able to discern up from down at that point. She could still manage to talk, though.

"Itzel's in there…I can't go…"

Ryuuzaki ignored her, but she heard him call back to Itzel through the filter in her ears.

"I'm sorry," he said.

And with that, she felt her arm being hefted over his shoulder again as he took off with her partially limp body down the stairs.

"Stop," Lana whispered, the smoke beginning to settle in her brain. It was dulling her senses; she felt as though she were going to pass out.

"No. If you do not get fresh air soon you will lose consciousness and die. The hallway you were in is quite concentrated with smoke."

"Don't care…"

"I find that hard to believe."

The inferno continued to rage around them until, finally, the pair burst through the double doors and outside.

Lana's lucidity seemed to be suddenly thrust upon her; she sucked in a huge gulp of air, and was immediately seized by a coughing fit. She fell to her knees, her palms slapping the ground as her lungs gasped for air like a fish on dry land.

Ryuuzaki was still standing beside her, and she saw him remove the wet cloth from around his face. While she was nearly coughing up her intestines, he seemed only mildly irritated by the smoke.

"Unfortunately, you seem to have inhaled a lot of smoke. If I hadn't pulled you out you almost certainly would be dead."

"You mean like Itzel?!" she snarled dangerously, looking up at him with eyes full of scorn. "You…left her there! She could still be alive! We have to go back!"

She tried to get up, but her efforts were in vain; a bout of nausea and stomach contractions made her fall back to her knees.

Ryuuzaki stared impassively at her. "In your condition you are barely able to walk. I won't let you kill yourself by doing something so reckless."

"You asshole." Lana began retching onto the sidewalk, the acidic fluid burning her esophagus as her sides heaved. "How dare you…"

He ignored her. "If you don't mind, I suggest that we both gain a safe distance from this building and the surrounding area. I already saw Matsuda and some of the others run off. This building will most likely collapse soon. That was no small, accidental explosion."

Lana sat still on her hands and knees, trying to will herself to move. Finally, she managed to get her contractions under control, pushing herself up to her feet. And, having nowhere else to go and nobody else to go with, the odd pair set off down the street.

* * *

The sun was starting to set, and so far, all of the buildings the two had come across were either boarded up or otherwise inaccessible.

Lana watched worriedly as the sun began to creep lower on the horizon. The last hues of blue and white were morphing into shades of scarlet, pink, and orange, creating a kaleidoscopic landscape of color. "Shit. It's going to get dark soon."

"Yes. I would rather not spend the night outside. It doesn't seem safe, what with a great deal of criminals roaming around."

Lana rolled her eyes at him, snapping angrily, "It's not that! Don't you know that some of the fences around here have been weakened?"

Ryuuzaki cocked his head. "No, I did not. This definitely makes being outside much more problematic."

"No shit, Sherlock."

He shot Lana a sideways glance as they walked. "I assume that is some sort of figure of speech? It's not very clever."

"Shut up."

"There is no need to be so hostile. In fact—wait a moment, do you see that?"

Ryuuzaki held up a hand to silence Lana's retort, and pointed towards one of the buildings. The woman followed his gaze, and spotted a quite interesting building.

A multi-layered complex—and not just some junky, boarded-up one, either—sat directly ahead of them. It was a condo, probably occupied at some point by some jokers with money in the bank to spare; this entire region of L.A. was full of people like that. She had never been here before now, but she had had "friends" from high school who lived here. They were the ones who had their own cars: revved-up cherry red convertibles so low to the ground that a cockroach would be hard-pressed to not get crushed. And this place looked like something one of their rich parents would have bought them as a "lesson in responsibility."

But to Lana and Ryuuzaki, it would be a saving grace.

"Am I wrong to point out that we might find shelter in there?"

"Nope. Good catch, Ryuuzaki," she said begrudgingly. "Let's try in there."

She slapped Ryuuzaki's arm, and made a mad dash for the complex. It was guarded closely by a white gate decorated with intricate patterns. What looked like a sea lion waved at Lana from the rusty painted metal.

"I suppose it will have to do," the strange man consented.

"Damn right."

Lana gripped the steel gate with both hands, and hefted herself upwards. She climbed to the top of the gate and threw her legs over, landing feet-first on the other side with a dull thud.

"Impressive," the man commented, the tip of one pale thumb between his lips.

"Well, I've had a lot of practice. If you need me to open the gate for you—"

She stopped talking as Ryuuzaki scaled the gate even quicker than she did, moving much faster than Lana would have believed possible.

"Guess not," she muttered, slightly put off. She started walking towards the buildings before the spiky-haired man had even jumped down.

"Have I upset you?" Ryuuzaki inquired as he caught up to her.

"Nope."

"Then I assume you are a naturally cold and unpleasant person?"

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Touche, Miss Emerson."

"Don't call me 'Miss.' Just Emerson."

"If you insist, although I know that isn't your real name."

As she was peeking through one of the room's windows to scan for any sign of people, Lana paused. "What? Of course it is."

"No it isn't. Or, at the very least, you don't think of yourself that way. Perhaps it's a last name. Either way, that is not what you really call yourself."

She stared at the man for a moment as he nibbled on his thumb. Then she turned away, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the plastic baggy she always carried with her. She pulled out a paper clip and started stretching it out. "There's no one inside. We can go in."

"I wonder why you are avoiding the question."

"I'm not," she said in a carefree voice as she began picking the lock on the door. "I just don't answer stupid questions."

"And you are getting defensive."

"Listen, _Ryuuzaki_. My name is _my_ business. If you don't like it, that's fine. But don't question it. How would you be able to tell if it was fake, anyway? You don't know me."

"That is true. But I am an expert in detecting lies. When you told me your name I could see that you hesitated for a moment. Anyone else would not notice it, but I did."

"Oh, yeah? And who are you?"

He stared at her, his large probing eyes making her face heat up. "I am not required to say."

"You dick! How can you drill me about my name when I don't even know who you are or where you came from? You hypocrite."

"Yes, I am. Most people are."

Lana said nothing; she simply pushed the door open and went inside.

The room's interior was impressive: there was a queen-sized bed that looked as if it had been untouched for ages; Lana was surprised that no dust had collected on the white and gold-trimmed bedspread. On the nightstand stood an old-fashioned wooden lamp that in all likelihood no longer worked, but still created an aesthetically pleasing appearance when coupled with the dull hardwood on the floor. The walls were clearly once stark white, but had yellowed with age, and the television in the corner was dusty and covered with cobwebs (as was nearly everything else).

The whole room had a stale stuffy smell that caused Lana's nose to scrunch up in distaste. Inside, however, she was nearly ecstatic.

"Awesome! This place is great! No mildew or mold or weird stains. And no dead bodies, either! We hit the jackpot, Ryuuzaki!"

She turned around to glance at the man in the doorway; he looked less than impressed, though Lana was fairly certain that he always looked that way. She frowned. He could at least _act_ grateful.

"What, were you expecting a five-star hotel?" she teased irritably.

"That would be preferable, though I suppose this will have to suffice."

"Are you kidding me? Who the hell d'you think you are? I know you haven't been here long, but you've got to lower your standards."

Ryuuzaki quickly changed the topic, irritating Lana further. "Unfortunately, I managed to lose my supplies while I was saving your life, so we will have to find another source of food."

The dormant rage in Lana's blood burst forth. "Saving my life?! Is that what you call forcing me to abandon my best friend?!"

"She asked me to. Believe me, were I not so inclined to save other people's lives I would have left you. That is regrettably not the case."

"Shut up."

"As I was saying, survival is my first priority, so we will need to find something edible."

" 'We?' What do you mean, 'we?'"

He cocked his head, and began nibbling his lip faster now. He approached the bed tentatively, staring at it as though it was going to bite him. He didn't answer Lana's question until he sat down, pulling his knees all the way up to his chest. He kicked his shoes and socks off, and allowed his pale toes to perch themselves on the edge of the mattress.

Then he spoke. "I assumed we were traveling together from now on."

"And just why the hell would I do that? I have no idea who you are."

"I am the person who pulled you from that burning building, and I—let me finish." He held up one finger, silencing the woman as she was about to interrupt. She fell silent begrudgingly, glaring daggers at the insufferable man.

"I am also a colleague of Naomi Misora's, remember?"

"She never actually said that—you only proved that you weren't the man in the picture, which I still find doubtful. You look exactly like him. He your twin or something?"

"I will admit, the similarities are incriminating. But that is purposeful, I assure you. That man's name is Beyond Birthday—or B, if you prefer—and he has copied my appearance on purpose."

"Why would he do that?" Lana was still skeptical.

Ryuuzaki's eyes wandered to the cracked ceiling. "Because he is obsessed with me. Well, not so much with me as with what I represent. But that is irrelevant to you. The point is that he fled here a bit over two months ago after his murders of three people in Europe. I have reason to believe that he is planning something nefarious."

Lana sat down next to him, listening intently now. "What, exactly?"

"I do not know the specifics, but he left me a very clear message. No one else—not even the United Nations—knows about the message apart from me and my colleague. Not even Agent Misora knew—but she was always too intuitive for her own good."

Lana stared at him out of the corner of her eye, suddenly suspicious. "And why are you telling me all of this? Isn't it classified information?"

"Yes. But I have no other viable options. I will not disclose the details of my mission or what I believe B's purpose is, since I am not sure yet, but I can tell you that I need to find him as soon as possible. And to do that, I require some assistance." He fixed his dark, baggy eyes on her. "I need someone who knows this area well and can assist in survival and transportation. Although you are unpleasant, I must admit that you are an invaluable asset."

Lana rolled her eyes. "Wow, thanks," she said sarcastically.

"It was not intended as a compliment."

"Yeah, I got that." The woman paused as things began to click into place. "Wait…if I help you, what's in it for me?"

Ryuuzaki looked blankly at her. "What do you want?"

"What the hell else would I want? I want out of here! And while I'm on the topic, how did _you_ get here?"

"That's classified."

"Of course it is." She sighed. "Fine. You don't have to tell me how. Just tell me…do you have a way back to…wherever it is you came from?"

"That should be obvious."

Lana decided to take that as a confirmation. "Then let's make a deal."

Ryuuzaki resumed biting on his thumb. "I am listening."

"I'll help you find this…'Beyond Birthday' or whatever the hell his name is, if you promise me that you'll get me out of this hellhole."

There was complete silence for a moment as Ryuuzaki considered Lana's offer (at least, that's what she hoped he was doing). Then he mumbled something.

It was so quiet that Lana barely heard him. "What?"

"I said okay. I accept your offer."

"Just like that? No problems? You aren't going to tell me that it's illegal for you to take someone back with you?"

"It may be illegal, but don't forget that I myself have broken the law by coming here. I also do not see much of an option in this scenario. I do not see a lot of people walking around outside who are eager to help me."

"Funny."

"Once again, I was not trying to make a joke."

"I know." Lana turned to him, and held out her hand. "So…deal?"

Ryuuzaki stared at her hand for a few moments, his thumb still in his mouth. His staring was starting to make her uncomfortable; it looked as though he were trying to use his eyes to burn a hole in her hand.

"What, are you scared of germs or something?"

"Somewhat."

_You came to the wrong place then, buddy. _

Then, to Lana's surprise, he took her hand, giving it a miniscule shake. Lana noted how his fingers barely brushed her skin, almost as if he were deathly afraid of human contact.

_What the hell's up with this guy? _

He let go of her hand, and she cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, uh, it's getting late. I'm gonna get some sleep, okay? Uh…you can share the bed with me if you want. But I'm not going to have sex with you or anything, so don't get any ideas."

"Don't worry. I would never touch you willingly. And you can have the bed; I have no need to sleep right now."

Lana really tried to not feel insulted, but failed. "Okaaaaay…"

She crawled over to the headboard, settling tiredly under the covers.

_Wow…this is so much more comfortable than those piece of shit cots Light had us sleep in, eh, Itzel?_

Sorrow began to overpower the scarred woman as she lay in the bed.

Over the past seven years, Lana had become very adept at restraining the physical expression of her emotions. She had learned to never show emotional vulnerability in front of anyone, because that was a sign of weakness. Everyone at Waterfront knew that if you looked weak, you would be targeted by the others: stolen from, pushed around, and stepped on.

So, she had never let anyone see her sadness.

Except for Itzel.

Now, wrapped up in the warm dusty covers of a bed in an old condo, the tap that controlled the flow of Lana's grief burst open. Her chest hurt, her limbs ached, her eyes burned with regret.

But she couldn't cry.

She didn't want to, because that showed weakness—something that she knew she wasn't.

So, Lana sat wrapped in her sorrow, invisible tears trailing silently down her face.

* * *

L lied to people.

He had made a habit out of it, in fact. In order to solve cases and save lives, he had lied to people about nearly everything: who he was, what his name was, his beliefs, even his past.

The list was never-ending.

But he had never lied to anyone about saving them; that was, after all, his job. He did not want to lie to the girl. (Even though she was obviously lying about her name, he couldn't blame her. He did the same thing. He was just better at it.)

She had been stuck here for seven years. He could understand why she would want to leave, especially after the death of her best friend. There was truly nothing left for her here now. By the looks of it, she had no family—they had probably all died long ago. God only knew how she got that huge scar on her face.

_She is solitary, just like me. Only her isolation is not by choice. Mine is necessary to a degree—though if I were not a detective I would probably still be the way I am. I wonder how it feels, to be so alone when all you value are people. _

Sure, L could empathize with people—but sympathy? That was a whole other game. A much more difficult one to pin down.

Slowly, so as not to wake her, L turned around and watched the woman's sleeping form. He could see her face clearly from this angle, even though the light in the room was rapidly fading. Her face was relaxed, a sight which struck him as unusual until he realized something.

Whenever he had seen her, her face had been tense. Her facial muscles were always rigid, as though she were constantly restraining herself from expressing some sort of outward emotion.

Now, her face was calm, and her expression was serene. Even her jagged scar didn't look as scary or imposing—he couldn't tell that her eyes were mismatched, either.

It made her look…normal. Definitely not the type of person who would attack a man she barely knew.

He had already seen that she cared for others when she threw herself in harm's way to save that woman from the fire; he knew she was not heartless, however much she tried to act like it around him.

She may have been impulsive, brash, and callous, but she was not evil.

Which made the fact that he was lying about taking her back with him somewhat troubling. Not because he cared—certainly not. But L had a duty as a detective, and that duty included enforcing justice and saving those who were not guilty of any crime—at any cost. In fact, if she actually helped him find B and solve this case, it would automatically make her an ally…

Which put L in a very compromising position, indeed.

L's earpiece suddenly crackled to life.

_"Ryuuzaki?"_ Watari's static-laden voice asked. _"Are you there?"_

L got up and went into the bathroom, making sure to close the door partway. "Yes, Watari. I'm fine. I am afraid things are a little more complicated than I would have preferred, however."

_"What do you mean?"_

"Agent Naomi Misora is dead."

Silence. Then, "_Are you certain? You've seen the body?"_

"Yes. I was present at the time of death. There was a massive explosion in the building we were in. I could not retrieve the body."

_"My God. I will have to notify Mr. Penber."_

"Not yet, Watari. We don't know how he will react. Do not break the news until the coverage of her disappearance has died down."

_"Okay, Ryuuzaki."_

"Oh, and Watari? When you tell him, please give him my regards."

He meant it, too. L had valued Misora greatly as an FBI agent, even if he did use her at times.

_"What will you do now?"_

"I have decided to pursue B until he is brought to justice. I met someone here who has agreed to assist me."

_"Who? A local?"_

"Yes. She is quite rude and profane, if not overtly violent, but she seems to know the area well. She is also quite proficient in what I believe are referred to as 'street smarts.'"

Watari sounded hesitant. "_Are you sure about her, Ryuuzaki? She will not attempt to harm you?"_

"She already has. Twice, I believe. I am perfectly capable of handling her, though. We have come to an understanding."

_"I just hope you haven't done anything too risky, Ryuuzaki."_

"You seem to have forgotten where I am. Do not worry; I will not let anything deter me from my case, Watari. If she becomes a hindrance I will leave her at once."

_"Can you, Ryuuzaki? Can you really abandon her if she is holding you back?"_

"I will have no choice." L paused. "Watari, I am going to hang up now. I have more matters to attend to."

_"Okay, Ryuuzaki. Contact me when you get a chance. And I'm sure I don't have to remind you, but don't tell that woman about me or who you are. And know when to leave her behind."_

"Of course."

L hung up, his mind going a mile a minute.

It seemed he could not avoid lying to anyone today.

* * *

**I think I've said this before, but L is hard to write. I worry that I will somehow manage to mess it up. I will try to get into his point of view more often, if only to get more practice. **

**Was this a good amount of interaction for Lana and L? I'm going to try to have a lot of dialogue between them so that I can better establish their relationship, since it's obviously complex from the start. I don't know-thoughts, anyone? Suggestions? Criticisms? I'm awash in a sea of uncertainty. I still have an overall plan for the story, so don't worry about me bailing. I really want to finish this. **

**I don't know how long this story will be, exactly, so I don't want to give a number. Just read, review and continue to support me! Thank you for reading. Reviews are a great motivator, as are the follows and favorites.  
**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	8. Really Smart People

**Author's Note: Just to clear up any confusion, when Lana is being referred to as "Emerson," that means it is in L's point of view (because remember, he doesn't know her name yet). And when L is being called "Ryuuzaki," that is Lana's point of view for the same reason. So they both have aliases.**

**To WhiteLadyDragon &amp; WildfireDreams: Thank you for the feedback! :) Currently, I am trying to develop their relationship, so there won't really be any happy-go-lucky stuff for a while. I am trying to figure out a way to make their relationship develop consistently and in a believable way, and what with their current situation that may be somewhat difficult. So, I've decided to establish the whole comrades/friends dynamic before heading into romantic territory.  
**

**And hey, you never who might survive an explosion...**

**There is an interesting development in this chapter, so look out for that! But it's mostly L/Lana interaction. And mostly angsty, too. **

**Warnings: Violence, Profanity, Angst. **

* * *

**Chapter 8: Really Smart People**

Darkness had enveloped the world. Night clawed at and smothered the very air of the forest like a sort of outlandish blanket; not even the light of the moon and the stars could pierce the endless night.

And somewhere far below, on the surface of the Earth, Lana Turk was running for her life.

Lana dashed through the forest even as branches whipped at her arms, legs, and face. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and her strong legs pumped harder and harder, pushing her exhausted body far beyond its limits.

But she didn't stop; she pushed harder. _Pain is all in the mind_.

But what was she running from? She couldn't remember. All the panicked woman knew was that it was horrible. It was chasing her, and it would not stop until it had its way…

_ Come on, go faster! _

The brambles and thorn bushes cut and sliced at Lana's exposed skin, causing her to wince in pain as she fought to gain momentum. She didn't want to die here…

Quite suddenly, the dark shadows of the trees gave way to a wide clearing. Lana nearly tripped over her own feet as she burst into the empty grassland. She looked desperately in all directions; there was only more forest, as far as the eye could see.

And she did not want to go back in there any time soon—but she didn't want to stay where she was, either. What was she to do? Run for her life, or face off against whatever monster was lying in wait?

Was it even really an option?

"Who's there?" the scarred woman called out nervously, her palms clammy. She tried to make her tone sound defiant. "Show yourself!"

**"Are you sure that's what you want?" **

A familiar voice had called out teasingly to her. It rang a bell, but the timbre of the voice was…off, somehow. Like it had been put through a pitch scrambler. It made Lana's skin crawl. Even worse, she could not determine which direction it had come from. It almost sounded as though the voice was coming from inside her own head.

The lone woman shivered. "Who are you? _Where_ are you?" She whipped around, looking all over the clearing and raking her eyes across the thickets and dense trees.

_Wait…eyes? _

_ I…I can see out of both of my eyes_. She moved one hand in front of her face, waving the appendage so as to test her vision. She closed her left eye. Yep, she could still see.

"W-who am I? What's going on?"

"Lana," a trembling voice called from behind her, causing said woman to twist around in surprise.

Her jaw dropped, and began to quiver. "D-Dad?"

Her father was standing right in front of her, looking for all the world as though he were alive and well—even though Lana knew he most certainly _wasn't._

"Lani, my daughter…"

He stepped closer, and Lana found herself unable to move—no matter how much she wanted to take a step backwards. He raised a hand, and placed his palm gently on her cheek.

Lana's eyes widened and began to burn, and she unconsciously leaned into his touch; it was just as warm as she remembered from when she was a child.

"Dad…" she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Oh, Lana…" he began, his tone as soft as ever.

But then, it darkened.

_"How could you leave me behind?"_

Lana's eyes snapped open in shock, and horror overtook her as she watched her father's face. Scarlet blood began to trickle out of his mouth as he stumbled forward. Lana gasped, jumping back just in time.

"How could you? My only daughter…"

"No!" Lana screamed, backing up even more. "Not again!" She was almost at the edge of the clearing.

So why couldn't she _run?_

Her father fell to his knees in front of her, the bloody hilt of a knife sticking out of his chest just like _that day_. A large stain began to bloom on his shirt as more crimson liquid came spurting out of his mouth, his nose…

"Lana?" a softer voice asked, coming from behind her once again.

She shrieked, whipping to the right as she came face-to-face with…

…her mother.

Abby Turk looked as lovely as ever, with her curly hair in tight bobby pins on the sides of her head.

"Mom?"

"My sweet girl. You let me kill your father, didn't you?" the woman asked sweetly, tilting her head to the side. "Your brother, too."

"It's not…that's not true!" Lana stuttered as she backed away. Her foot caught on a rock, and she tumbled to the ground, landing soundly on her ass.

**"Stop lying to your mother, Lana,"** the strange voice mocked. **"You let her kill them. Even poor little Alfie…you might as well have held the blade yourself…"**

Suddenly, the limp body of Lana's baby brother was in front of her, his dull, beady eyes seeming to stare right at her. Accusing her, maybe?

Lana let loose a heart-wrenching scream that nearly shook the entire forest with its sorrow.

_"Stop it! Don't show it to me!"_

**"Why not? It's your fault, isn't it? You left them behind and saved yourself. It's your fault they're all dead. If you'd gotten there earlier, maybe you could have done something, no?"**

Her eyes closed as the tortured voices of her family began to echo relentlessly in Lana's mind, their repeated chorus of accusations building up to an awful crescendo.

_"Your fault."_

_ "Your fault."_

_ "Why, Lana?"_

_ "Your fault."_

The scarred girl couldn't take it anymore; surely she would go insane. She had to make it stop—

"It's yer fault, girly."

Lana's eyes shot open, and there, standing in front of her huddled form, was Itzel.

"Itzel," she whispered.

The woman in question grinned devilishly. "Thanks to yer sorry ass, I'm dead. Thanks a shitload."

"Itzel…"

"'Course, guess I can't blame ya. Ya always were a coward, Lana."

"H-how do you know my real name?" she asked shakily.

The Hispanic woman smirked at her.

**"Because I told her."** The alien voice spoke up again.

Only this time, it was right in Lana's ear.

She turned, and all of her bodily functions seemed to cease. She was looking at…

Herself?

A second Lana stood next to her, crouching comfortably by the original's panicked form. Only _this _Lana had the scar, her crystal blue eye seeming to stare at everything but see nothing.

"You…you're not me. Who are you?"

The copy snickered. **"You're right, Lana Turk, but also not. I am you, but better." **

The doppelganger leaned in close, her lips pressed against Lana's ear. **"You see, I'm not weak." **

* * *

The scarred woman gasped as she awoke.

She was disoriented, and her unfamiliar surroundings only served to confuse her further. She unconsciously raised a hand to her face, feeling around her eye.

The jagged, raised skin was still there. She sighed; Lana never thought she would feel relieved by that fact, but she supposed there was a first time for everything. Up until that point she had always been discouraged by the reminder of her disfigurement.

_What a weird dream, to make me feel scared of being normal again._

"I see you are awake," a toneless voice called out.

Lana jumped, throwing the covers off of herself and looking to the source of the voice.

Ryuuzaki was sitting in his unusual fashion on the desk chair that he had shoved to the foot of the bed, his thumb in his mouth and dark eyes trained on her.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked nonchalantly, staring intently at her face.

_Do I have drool on my face or something?_ "Um, sure," she lied awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of the sweat that was stuck to her, as well as her racing heart. "How about you?"

"I did not sleep."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I did not sleep last night. I do not require as much sleep as you. In fact, I can go for days without doing so."

"Isn't that unhealthy?" Lana questioned, trying to rub the sleepy feeling out of her eyes.

"By all average standards, yes. But you should notice that I am not what you would consider 'average.'"

"Yeah. I figured that out already."

She looked around the room; it appeared untouched, as though Ryuuzaki had not moved at all during the night save for switching his seating arrangement.

"So, if you didn't sleep, what _did_ you do all night?" _Please don't tell me you just sat there and watched me sleep. _

"I searched the entire room and all of the other complexes for supplies. I hope you do not mind, but I borrowed your paperclips."

Lana clenched her fists angrily. "You went through my stuff?"

"You left the bag sitting on the desk. It did not seem as though you were trying to protect it."

"Whatever. Just ask me next time."

"If you insist. In any case, I found something of interest."

Ryuuzaki produced a medium-sized plastic bin from behind the foot of the bed. Lana inched forwards to get a closer look. She knew that design; her family had had a bin just like it for as long as they had lived in California.

"Is that an earthquake kit? Where'd you find that?"

"In a closet. It seems to have been ransacked prior to my finding it, however. It contains no food or water."

"That sucks. What else does it have?"

Ryuuzaki unclicked the lid and opened the kit. "Among other things, it contains a flashlight, extra double-A batteries, dog food, an empty thermos, two plastic ponchos, a first aid kit, an emergency blanket, and a radio." As he spoke, the gangly man produced each item respectively, laying them on the floor in front of him.

"Well, scrap the dog food, but everything else in there sounds great to me."

"Unless you enjoy the taste of processed chicken fragments."

Lana chose to ignore him. "Hey, gimme that radio."

Ryuuzaki handed it to her. "I do not believe you can contact anyone from that. We would need to acquire a HAM radio."

"Yeah, but Stripes is on the air."

"Stripes?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess you wouldn't know who he is. He's a guy who took over an old radio station. He updates everyone in the area on local news. That's how I found out about the broken gate."

"I see. This 'Stripes,' do you know what station he is at?"

"No. He never says. Probably doesn't want anyone to go over there and rob him."

"Understandable. In any case, his observations might be of some help. We should listen to his broadcast."

"Yeah." Lana picked up the radio. It was small and compact, with an old antenna sticking halfway up. She straightened it out and checked the battery port in the back; it was empty, so she quickly popped four double-As into the contraption and closed it up. When she pressed the on switch, the box immediately crackled to life in a burst of static and ear-grating whines. Although Lana was well aware that was not the correct station, she was completely ignorant on how to change it.

Ryuuzaki noticed her hesitation. "Don't you know the station identification? Is it FM or AM?"

"FM. One-oh-three point one. But…Nix always kept it on that station. I never had to change it myself."

Ryuuzaki sighed. "I suppose street smarts aren't everything. Give it to me."

Lana sheepishly handed the radio to him, even though her insides were burning with barely-concealed annoyance.

"One-oh-three point one FM…" Ryuuzaki mumbled as he rotated a small knob on the radio's face.

The static warped and altered repeatedly until it finally began to level off. Soon enough, a voice could be heard amidst the sound of dead air.

_"…I know this isn't sayin' a lot, but things could be worse. On second thought, maybe not. I've just gotten word from my associate that the main L.A. gate near Riverwood Highway has been almost decimated compared to how it was yesterday. The hole is now much larger, which means that any one of the infected who were wandering around that area could be here. My associate and I were able to see some of them wandering around on the city limits earlier this morning. It goes without saying that this, coupled with the explosion that occurred a few miles east, is definitely a cause for concern. If someone's causing these things to happen I admit I'd be just a teensy bit nervous…"_

"Waterfront?" Lana interjected. "He knows about Waterfront? I wonder if he's close by!" she exclaimed.

"That is obvious from everything we just heard. But did you read into his words?"

"What do you mean?"

"We can easily tell that he is close by, but we can also deduce his approximate location. Number one: he said that he—or at least his associate, who I deduce is either with or nearby him—has been to the gate near Riverwood. I was there not too long ago, so I know where it is located and that Waterfront Inn is approximately sixty-five miles due east from there. Number two: he referenced the explosion as being 'a few miles east,' leading me to the conclusion that, since he obviously must be within the enclosed gates of the city, he is located at some point between Riverwood and Waterfront. This narrows our search exponentially."

Lana was staring at Ryuuzaki in disbelief. "You got all that from listening to him?"

The man nodded. "And whoever this 'Stripes' is, he is obviously highly intelligent. He proclaimed his 'fears' that these events were caused by a person. I also had my assumptions ever since that explosion…but I do not yet have solid evidence. At the very least we know that Stripes is leaving clues."

"Clues? For what?"

"Emerson, he dropped hints of his whereabouts that only a trained mind would decipher."

Lana's eyes widened. "So…he wants people to find him? No…not possible. I know people around here, most of them would just rob him…" A flash of insight came to her. "He only wants really smart people to find him."

"Correct. That is my deduction. Great minds can do wonders together, after all."

"So I've heard," Lana muttered. "So…what? You wanna go after him? Do you think he can help you track down this serial killer?"

"I am not sure he'd be willing to. However, he seems to be, at the very least, intelligent and proficient with technology. He could be of use."

"So are you gonna get rid of me if he can help you out more?" Lana's voice became low and intimidating as she tried to send Ryuuzaki a verbal warning.

He didn't seem to take notice. "No. I still require your help in navigation and protection, in case we run into any of the infected. It would be better to be with someone rather than having to fend for myself."

Lana unclenched her jaw. "All right, then. Let's get going. First thing's first, though. We need to get some food in us—the human kind."

"Agreed. I have extremely low blood sugar at the moment."

The pair stuffed everything of use that Ryuuzaki had found—including the radio—into an old rucksack that Lana had discovered in the closet.

With one last glance around the room, Lana and Ryuuzaki stepped outside. Lana stepped out first—only to be tripped and stumble slightly when her foot caught on something that stood just beside the door. It clattered to the ground with a high-pitched clinking sound and rolled to its side.

"Goddammit!" the brunette growled as she grabbed onto the railing of the hallway balcony to steady herself. "What is that?"

She turned around in aggravation to see the offending object, only to see her spiky-haired companion holding—a jar?

"What the hell?" Lana mused, perplexed by the mundane object.

Ryuuzaki handed it to her. "I hope you are hungry for sweets."

Lana examined the jar. It was full, and looked as though it hadn't even been tampered with. "Strawberry jam? Why would you leave this out here all night? Or were you just trying to trip me?"

"I did not leave it out here. In fact, I am ninety-nine point eight-three percent positive that this was not here when I went searching last night."

"Uhhh…are you sure, Ryuuzaki? I mean, it was really dark last night. You probably just missed it."

"Perhaps."

"What do you mean, 'perhaps?' What sane person would leave an unopened jar of strawberry jam just lying around for someone else to eat?"

"Yes. What sane person _would_ do that?"

The strange man had asked a question, but for some reason Lana did not feel as though she were expected to answer. It seemed more like he was talking to himself, a habit that reminded her strangely of Light.

She answered anyway.

"I don't know, but…let's just get going, okay? We should move while the day's young."

* * *

"We should try in here," Emerson suggested as the pair was walking by an old grocery store. "I used to work at Vons. They always have extra canned food and long-lasting stuff in the back."

"So do all other grocery stores."

"Maybe, but I have a very narrow worldview. If I haven't seen something, to me, it doesn't exist."

"I see. So seeing is believing, then?" L mused aloud as he watched Emerson tug at the automatic doors.

"Hell yeah. Isn't that kinda a given for an FBI agent? I always thought you guys were all for hard evidence and making a case and why the _hell_ won't these goddamn things _open_—"

L chuckled internally at the girl's struggle before moving to help her. With the both of them pulling the once-automatic doors in opposite directions, they finally managed to pry them open and slink inside (very nearly losing their smaller appendages in the process).

Despite having seen what the rest of the city looked like on his brief travels, L was still shocked at the current state of the supermarket.

It was completely decimated. Not a loaf of bread or bag of chips was left sitting on any of the shelves; most of what was left was strewn all over the tiled floor. The stale crumbs and puddle of red mystery liquid were especially distasteful to the sugar-loving detective. At the moment, he needed to find something sweet—the now half-empty jar of strawberry jam just wasn't going to cut it.

He preferred chocolate, anyway.

"Let's go to the back room. I'm sure it's already been ransacked, but someone might've missed something."

His traveling companion breezed passed him as he stood staring around the large store. Back home—wherever that was—L had tried his best to stay indoors and away from the public eye. That included grocery stores. But somehow, seeing one in such a state of destruction and emptiness, even if he did find the absence of people marginally appealing, was unnerving. His brain was unused to it; it did not fit his prototype.

"Strange," he mumbled, following the girl's clipped pace. She seemed to know where she was going.

She led them to a green door marked STAFF and proceeded to pick the lock like she had done at the condo. In a few seconds, they were in.

Just as Emerson had said (and L had silently predicted), the storage room was empty. Not a sign was left that told them that food had once been kept there. L was disappointed, but he had a gut feeling that something wasn't quite right.

"Would they really keep all of their spare items in one room?" he questioned aloud.

"Nice thinking, Ryuuzaki. And no. Remember how I told you that I used to work at Vons?"

He waited for her to continue, showing no sign that he was even listening. She huffed in annoyance, and he grinned mentally, his thumb going to his lip.

"Well, our management here was a bunch of greedy assholes. They put this whole construction program in action to make more storage space in order to save time and money between shipments. Long story short…"

She kicked the desk in the middle of the room, a devious grin plastered on her face. "Help me move this thing."

L caught on immediately. "There's a basement under here."

"You got it. Did I not mention that I used to work at this exact Vons? You may have the whole fancy, educated, federal agent gig going for you, but I was a _real_ worker for the people. 'Course, that was before I got fired…"

"This would have been helpful to know from the beginning."

Together, the two pushed the desk all the way over to the wall, revealing a square-shaped trapdoor.

"Ta-da!" Emerson proclaimed as she began to lift the door open by a small rope that was attached to it.

A dust cloud instantly bloomed upwards from the dark basement, causing the girl to lapse into another round of coughing.

"Shit," she choked out, "I am definitely going to get lung cancer or something."

"Is there a ladder?"

"'Course. Wanna go down ahead of me?"

"Aren't you more familiar with the architecture?"

"Ugh, fine. Dick. But you'd better not lock me in and leave me to die here." She relented, the ladder creaking rhythmically as the tan woman began her descent. L could tell that it was extremely dark down there; he could no longer see her when she touched down, but he heard the creaking stop.

"Hey, Ryuuzaki!" she called up a second later, her voice echoing slightly. "You got that flashlight?"

"Of course." He had already replaced its batteries; he pulled it out of the rucksack and clicked it on. "Cover your eyes."

"'Kay."

He pointed it down the hole. From what he could tell, Emerson was standing about six feet below him with closed eyes, waiting for his signal. He could see dust motes shimmering in the illuminated air, and the beam from his flashlight brightened Emerson's skin and brought out the copper highlights in her hair. Her skin looked paler and golden, and the outline of her scar was even diminished by the angle of the light.

L didn't much care for that last part.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he realized he was staring. "I am going to toss the flashlight down now."

"Ready."

She caught it easily with her eyes closed, and he came down with her. He felt a tickle in his throat when he reached the bottom, but resisted the urge to cough. He looked around, and felt his eyes grow.

There were at least ten shelves of food, all fully stocked but for the ones closest to the ladder. L could see canned vegetables and tomato soup, bags of Cheetos and banana chips, jars of salsa and jellies of various flavors. There was sugar, salt, pepper, and powdered garlic. But most important of all, there were pastries. Twinkies and Ho-Hos sat in abundance on one of the shelves, and L felt his stomach growl.

"I heard that," Emerson snickered. "What're you looking at?"

"Those sponge cakes."

"The Twinkies? Here ya go."

She threw him a box, and he caught it expertly. The detective immediately sat down and began devouring the gooey pastries, intent on eating his fill. Even his thoughts of B had fled for the moment; he barely registered Emerson sitting down beside him with a jar of green beans.

"I can't believe those things haven't expired yet," she said in wonderment. "And shouldn't you be eating something more…I don't know, substantial?"

"I require large amounts of glucose to focus. If I don't have enough, my concentration and observational skills drop significantly." He held up the box. "We must take these with us."

"Okay, then," she muttered, clearly under the impression that he was insane. He didn't much care what she thought, though her dismissive statement did befuddle him. Who was she to question his methods? His deductive skills far outweighed hers.

Quickly, he caught himself. Getting irritated would do him no good.

_After all, I do need her to help me find this "Stripes" person…and B. And remember, she isn't evil, she is just trying to survive. Try not to judge her too much, even if she is rash and emotional. _

Suddenly, he remembered something from last night, when she had been sleeping.

* * *

_Twenty hours ago…_

He had just gotten back from his patrol of the condo when he heard Emerson mumble something in her sleep.

"Alfred," she muttered sleepily, her voice sounding strained.

L paused in his movements, and set the large earthquake kit down by the foot of the bed. As quietly as he could, he curled up on the seat he had moved by the desk.

And he watched the woman sleep, listening carefully to hear if she said anything else. He was mildly curious, though he was ninety-nine point nine-eight percent sure if she found out he was watching her sleep she would attempt to flay him alive.

After a few minutes of observing her unremarkable breathing pattern, the woman shifted under the covers. This time, she mumbled another word.

"Itzel…I'm sorry…"

_Itzel? I believe that's a female name of Hispanic origin. Could that be the woman Emerson was trying to save at Waterfront? And who is Alfred? _

* * *

_Current time…_

Recalling what he had heard last night caused some of L's curiosity to resurface. Before he could ponder the consequences, his mouth had already opened.

"Who is Alfred?"

He knew he'd made a mistake when he felt Emerson's eyes on him. As soon as he made eye contact with her, he felt a pronounced sting on his face and heard the upsetting slap of skin on skin. His head was thrown to the side, a sharp burn beginning to spread through his cheek.

"_How do you know that name?"_ she hissed menacingly.

"You slapped me," he stated simply. He had been expecting, if anything, another punch. This decidedly hurt more in terms of pride; to him, it felt as though she were scolding a child.

"No shit. Now _how do you know that name?"_

"You talk in your sleep," he explained, rubbing his cheek. "I was merely curious. I admit that may have been rude, but do not slap me again. Next time, you will be sorry." _Next time? Why don't I hit her back now? She initiated it._

Despite his conscience telling him to do so, he did not.

"Ha! That's rich." She was laughing cruelly.

The basement was silent for a few long moments, until L decided to open his mouth again. "That woman from the casino—her name was Itzel, wasn't it?"

"What do you care, dipshit?"

He stared sheepishly at her, his thumb placed comfortably between his teeth. "You cared greatly for her, correct?"

No response. He had not expected her to answer him.

He swallowed. "I know leaving her behind was difficult for you. I'm sorry."

"What the hell do _you_ know, _Ryuuzaki_?" she hissed, spitting out his alias as though it were a curse. "You didn't even bat a fucking eyelash when Agent Misora got blown up, for Christ's sake! I thought she was your friend, yet you sit here eating Twinkies like everything's just fine and fucking dandy! You're acting like you don't even care!"

L was angry now, but he didn't let it show. He was something else, too—his chest was hurting, for some reason. "I do care. I am just not as outwardly emotional as you."

"Funny. I always thought the same about myself."

"I valued Naomi Misora greatly." He hardened his gaze. "But I cannot afford to wallow in sadness. I have a duty to see this case through to the end, so that more people do not die. I believe she would want me to do that as well."

Emerson's face softened. She had the good grace to look somewhat guilty.

"And even if you do not believe me, I truly do apologize for leaving that woman behind."

She was staring at him blankly, her eyes dull and deflated. It seemed as though she had aged five years since he began talking.

When she spoke, her voice was soft and slow. She was choosing her words carefully.

"I believe that you are sorry, Ryuuzaki. Really, I do. But if you are hoping for me to forgive you…then the answer is no. In fact, it's the opposite. I hate you." She leaned forward. "I hate you because I feel like from now on, all I'll be able to see when I look at you is the image of what happened almost two days ago. I hate you because the way you look reminds me of myself. Because I can't wallow in sorrow, either. I tried. I'm still trying. But I can't even cry. Funny, isn't it?" She smiled brokenly. "I spend more than a quarter of my life with the same person, and I can't even cry when she dies. I thought it made me strong, but now I'm not so sure…

"What does it make me? I don't know, but what I do know is that I don't like it. Is this what loss and death does to people, Ryuuzaki? Is that why you are the way you are?"

"No."

"I figured you would say that, but it still scares me. I had this dream…and it made me realize something. How calm you look. I don't want to look like that. I've seen what it makes me look like. But…I promised someone that I would survive. That's why I have to leave. For them. If I die here, who else will remember them? Who else will tell everyone exactly what things are like here?"

She sighed, leaning back on her hands. "Or maybe that's all bullshit. Maybe I'm just a coward. Soft. Maybe I just really don't want to die. But if I stop to think about it too much, I'll drive myself crazy, won't I?"

"So we both have our own reasons for staying together."

"Yep. I guess we do. Hey, did you hear that?"

"Yes." L could hear a rustling sound above them, and the creaking sound of rusty hinges.

Someone had opened the door to the room above them.

"What is it?" Emerson whispered, a paranoid edge to her voice.

L put a finger to his lips silently, miming his request for her to be quiet. The soft sound of feet touching the ground was barely distinguishable even to L's trained ears; whoever was up there didn't weigh that much.

_A female? Or a child? Do they know we're down here? _

Emerson stood up, her fists coming to rest protectively in front of her as she stared up at the opened trapdoor.

There was no time to close it.

Out of nowhere, a dark blob came falling through the square door, causing the already-tense woman to jump back in surprise.

"What the—?"

Their intruder turned out to be a cat—a large, fluffy orange cat, to be exact. Half of its tail was missing, though it didn't look to be in any pain nor did it have any blood in its fur. It stared at the two with large green eyes and a bored expression, and meowed.

"Hey there," Emerson said in a relieved voice. "How did you get in here?" She approached the animal, which stayed stock-still as she bent over to pat it on the head. When it didn't bite or hiss at the girl, she began stroking it, causing the orange furball to purr affectionately.

"Check out this little guy, Ryuuzaki," Emerson said, hefting the feline into her arms. "He's a bit heavy."

"I detest cats. They shed."

"Fuck you! Cats are cool. This guy looks like he's been through hell, haven't ya? I'm sure I can find you some food in here, Will…"

"Will?"

"It's a cool name."

"We cannot be lugging around a cat with us, Emerson."

"I know that! I'm just gonna feed him! What's wrong with that?"

"Then find him some actual cat food. We can't afford to give him our rations."

"I know. Jesus, Ryuuzaki, you're such a tight-ass."

After fumbling around with the food on the shelves for a few minutes, L could hear the sound of a can being opened, then a chorus of licking noises. "There ya go, Will."

Emerson came and sat down next to the silent man, letting out a large yawn as she did so.

"Emerson, do you know what street we are on?"

"Yeah. Variel. S'bout a few miles from the fence if we keep heading west."

"So we should keep going in the same direction?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow, though. I don't want to be caught dead outside at night. You should get some sleep, too, Ryuuzaki. I know you said you don't need it, but you can save that bullshit for someone dumber than me. Just know that when you pass out on me if we're being chased, we're both fucked."

"Duly noted."

"I bet," she said sarcastically, sprawling out on the floor and rolling over to face away from him. "At least try, okay?"

After a few minutes of listening to Emerson's breathing, L decided to humor her—even if it was fake. He lied down beside her, facing the opposite direction.

Then something occurred to him. He reached up to the earpiece Watari had given him and shut it completely off; now, Watari wouldn't be able to get in contact with him.

_That's better. Now there's no chance of Emerson hearing him if he decides to call right now. I'll turn it back on in the morning. _

Lying beside someone else was a strange experience, L decided. He had never done it before—he didn't think he'd ever actually been this close in proximity to another human in his entire life, except for perhaps when he was a baby.

But this was different. He was lying next to a woman in a way that anyone else might have misconstrued.

And the strangest thing was, it wasn't terrible. It felt unnatural and frankly a bit disturbing in its unfamiliarity, but it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation. In fact, it was almost reassuring having someone at his back.

_What's wrong with me? _he thought confusedly. _It's inappropriate to be so close to her. _

But he didn't move away or shift positions. On the contrary, he felt himself starting to get…tired. He was tired? How was that possible? He hardly ever got tired.

_It's probably because of all the artificial light I surround myself with. My biological clock is attempting to reassert itself._

Yes. That made sense. It certainly made more sense than the notion that being around Emerson was relaxing to him. She was practically a stranger, even if he could read her quite well. The sight of the destroyed market must have unhinged him more than he'd realized. He shouldn't let his guard down around her.

L closed his eyes, releasing a deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Then, a voice startled him out of his semi-conscious stupor.

"Ryuuzaki?" Emerson whispered. L started; he had thought she was already asleep.

"Yes?" he responded, turning his head slightly to look at her. Her back was still facing him, tendrils of her dark hair flowing freely over her shoulders and onto the cold ground.

She hesitated for a moment. "How old are you?"

A strange question. Nonetheless, L figured there was no real harm in answering. "Twenty-six."

She lifted her head off of the ground, and her shoulders shook with a small chuckle. "Huh. Me too, I think. Time seems to pass slower here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Small world, I guess."

He settled back down, laying his head on the stone floor. "It would seem so."

"Ryuuzaki?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry…for hitting you."

A pause. "It's alright. Let's call it an eye for an eye. I intruded into your personal life and you reacted negatively."

"Thanks."

That night, Will decided to curl up on the floor between the two of them.

* * *

**I wonder if anyone knows at this point who Stripes is. (If you know, please don't put it in the reviews, haha.) New characters will be coming in very soon, so stay tuned for that!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	9. A Message in the Form of Will

**Author's Note: I can't believe I finished this in a week. Here's an even longer chapter for you. Something's about to go down! And there are some new characters, too.**

**Warnings: Violence, Profanity. **

* * *

**Chapter 9: A Message in the Form of Will**

_ The morning of the explosion…_

B watched the woman escape the burning wreckage of the casino from his safe position across the street, where he was currently crouched by a dumpster. He'd known she would make it out alive; if she hadn't, he would not have considered her worth his time or effort.

Well, she had proved herself—somewhat.

But B found himself fuming with rage for another reason.

_He_ was here. L.

_No, it can't be. It's impossible!_ B must have been hallucinating—that, or the smoke from the fire was altering his vision. There was no way the infuriating detective could have come to Los Angeles so soon.

_He should still be in England with the old man!_ B had not expected him to deduce where he was from the obscure note that he left him. If anything, he had expected him to be drawn to the east coast; that was what he had implied in his letter.

So how had he figured it out?

_Impossible…_

And what was even more impossible was who was beside the object of his hatred.

She was with him.

How had L managed to find the very same girl B had set his sights on? Was fate playing some sort of game with him? Had L been staying at Waterfront before B had even arrived?

The serial killer continued to glare heatedly at the man as the coughing woman pushed herself to her feet. The two conversed for a brief moment, then began walking away from the burning building.

B's blood boiled. _Why are they together? Why is she going with him, of all people? He's a selfish, arrogant prick!_

B noticed that his hands were shaking, and he took a deep breath, desperately attempting to calm himself down. He exhaled. There was nothing to worry about. A challenge, that was what all of this was. L may have ensnared his current target, but not all hope was lost. B could still win her back if he tried hard enough…

He would prove to her that _he_ was the better one, that he was more trustworthy than that self-absorbed detective. Yes, this was perfect!

_But how to begin? _

Smirking ever so softly, B began tracking their movements down the street. He stayed far enough away from the pair to avoid being detected, but close enough to effectively deduce their direction.

They walked for a long time. So long, in fact, that by the time they made their way to an old condo, it was nearly dark already.

He peeked through the fence only after he saw them go into one of the rooms and close the door. B growled deep in his throat, dark jealously coursing through his veins. He held himself firm rather than attempting to burst into the room.

_Well, at least I know where they are staying for the night. Now I can put my plan into action without fear of losing them. _

B ventured onwards; he had become accustomed to the city, and was now familiar with how to get around. He opted to take a shortcut back to the fence, and jogged nearly the entire way.

As the lunatic careened through the streets, amidst a sea of vehicles and the austere beauty of the city's crumbling remains, he felt giddy with excitement.

_Oh, how wonderfully everything is working out!_ His new plan was flawless. He was definitely going to outsmart L. The detective had made it so easy for him. By coming here (though it was very annoying of him to intrude on B's original plan), he was simply asking to be killed. Did he seriously think he could outsmart B on his own turf?

Of course, the killer knew not to underestimate him; many criminals had done that and paid a heavy price for it.

_But I am different. I know L. I know how he works. All I have to do is keep to the shadows and stay out of sight. I always did like games. Maybe I'll drop him another clue? No, too risky. Maybe I'll just leave a little present for my new lady friend…_

Finally, B arrived at his destination. Since he had been here last, the fence had hardly changed. It still sported a small gap, but was otherwise undamaged. The creeping hands of time had yet to take their toll.

_Let's fix that, shall we? _

B reached into the bag hefted over his shoulder and withdrew a pair of wire cutters. With unrestrained glee, he proceeded to hack and clip at the large fence, widening the hole until it was roughly the size of a person.

"Hey!" he shouted into the darkness. Only the sound of crickets answered him. "I know you're in there! You are free now, understand? Come out and play!"

"You! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" A booming voice came from behind B, and racing footsteps alerted him to danger.

_A person? Oh, crap! _

With that, the maniac did a full one-eighty and dashed back the way he had came, barely missing being grabbed by whoever had approached him. He did not have time to look at the intruder before he ran away.

As he dashed down the street, he barely registered the distant sound of a motorcycle rumbling to life.

* * *

B tried to be quiet as he jumped the fence of the old complex. He didn't want to alert L to his presence—not yet, anyway.

As quiet as a mouse, B approached the stairs—and immediately dived under them when he heard the sound of footsteps above him. His heart beat erratically as he listened to the dainty steps pause for a moment.

They started up again, but they sounded heavier—as though the detective were carrying something. Soon enough, B heard a door open and close, and he emerged from his hiding spot.

_A close call. I wonder what he's found? _

B crept up the stairs, not making a sound as he did so. He stopped at the door and reached into his bag, pulling out a jar of his favorite delicacy: strawberry jam.

_My gift to you, Miss_, B thought with a smile on his face. _Please enjoy it. You too, L. Enjoy it while you can—you'll be begging for death soon enough._

B followed them the next day, until they reached a grocery store. Then, he waited. When it got dark, he went inside and looked over the destroyed interior, being careful to stay silent and ready to hide at a moment's notice.

There was no one around, as far as he could tell. Where were they?

His eyes scanned the entirety of the store until they landed on a green door that was slightly ajar. _Are they in there? It might be a storage room…I should avoid going inside. I don't want to be seen at this point. I'll just let L think he's being followed….hehe, he'll be so preoccupied with that that he won't be prepared for what's coming….Well, I suppose I'll go wait outside until morning._

So B sat outside the store all night, nestled comfortably in an obscure alleyway as he contemplated his next course of action. He was certain that L had become suspicious that he was being tracked. If he was as perceptive as B remembered, then he would have taken notice of the strange circumstances of the explosion at Waterfront. After all, how often do all of the pipes in a building explode at once?

It was only a matter of breaking into the boiler room on the side of the building and filling the pipes with the water B had found in the chemistry lab. After that, he had simply dropped in a large amount of pure sodium metal and voila! A chain reaction large enough to disturb the entire building. The heating gas that was still dormant in the heaters had also served as a perfect catalyst for the explosion. The plan had worked out better than B could have ever imagined.

That had been step one—though at the time, it had only been a test for his lovely target. Now, things were much more interesting.

Step two had been the destruction of the fence. The jar of jam was step three—getting their attention. Though that one was flawed. Perhaps he needed to do something else to shake them up a bit more.

As the sun began to rise in the dawning sky, B heard a noise.

"Meow!"

An orange cat was staring at him from the entrance to the store, its wide eyes bright and curious.

B's face broke out into a wide grin. _Perfect. _

"Hello there, kitty," he cooed. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

* * *

L knew that Watari would be put off by the fact that he had deactivated the earpiece. However, he did not quite expect the man to call as soon as he turned the thing back on. It was a godsend that L had gone upstairs. If Emerson had been near him, she most likely would have heard the old man bellowing loudly into L's ear.

_"Ryuuzaki!"_ Watari gasped, sounding as though he had just seen Jesus himself come down from Heaven. "_Why on earth was your earpiece shut off?"_

"I apologize, Watari. Emerson was sleeping and I did not want to risk waking her up if you called."

_"Emerson?" _

"The woman I am traveling with."

"_I see. I had thought you may have been hurt or killed."_

"Well, I am fine. In fact, I may have a lead."

_"A lead? To our serial killer?" _

"Not exactly." He neglected mentioning the fact that he was fairly certain he and Emerson were being followed. "There is a man—a radio host—who seems to me to be a possible asset. Since he had access to technology, I have deduced that he may have something that can be of assistance in locating B."

_"A radar system?" _

"Among other things. I know he is intelligent, and that is a good start."

_"So do you no longer require the help of this 'Emerson?'" _

L paused. "I need her to help me to get to the station. After that, she can do what she likes." He hesitated, then said, "Watari?"

_"Yes?" _

"Will you do me a favor?"

_"…What is it?" _

"I want you to look up the name 'Emerson' on the U.S. government's database of citizens. I do not believe that is her real name, but it is all I have aside from a physical description. She is a resident of Los Angeles, is twenty-six years of age, has dark brown hair and naturally brown eyes. She is of medium build and is, I believe, of Caucasian descent."

_"Understood. Ryuuzaki, if you don't mind my asking, why do you want me to look all of that up? Is there something wrong?" _

"No. I would simply like to know if she is keeping anything from me."

_"Okay, Ryuuzaki_." The older man sounded doubtful, but L held his tongue.

After a minute of almost complete silence (aside from the frantic clicking of fingers on a keyboard), Watari spoke up again.

"_I believe I have found her, Ryuuzaki. I am pulling up a picture and statistics page now…it seems you are in luck. Emerson is not her first name, though it is a part of it." _

"It's a last name?"

_"No. A middle name. Her full name is Lana Emerson Turk. Birthdate October third, aged twenty six…She was born and raised in a suburban community in Los Angeles."_

"Does she have any criminal history?"

There was another clicking sound. _"Yes. When she was sixteen she was arrested at a house party for possession of marijuana. Her father picked her up downtown. No history of violent crime or theft."_

"Her father?"

_"Yes. Her family history shows three relatives: Dominic Palmer Turk, father…Abby Marilyn Garfield-Turk, mother…and Alfred Lake Turk, younger brother."_

L started. _Alfred…that's the other name she called out in her sleep. So he is her brother. No wonder she lashed out at me; he is probably dead. _

"Is there anything else unusual about her, Watari?"

_ "Not as far as I can tell. Her medical records are normal, as are her employee records, although she was once fired for insubordinate behavior. There is nothing unusual about her—unless you consider her pastimes." _

"Which are?"

_"Mixed martial arts. She was even an amateur fighter at age nineteen, though she didn't make much money off of it."_

_That explains how she managed to land a hit on me_, L thought, more than a bit surprised by this fun fact about his companion. At least she was not a criminal before any of this happened—though nearly everything she had done since then would almost definitely be grounds for incarceration. Still, L could not blame her. With their family dead and hometown destroyed, who wouldn't do absolutely anything to survive? She seemed, at least, to have some sort of conscience.

L could thank his lucky stars for that. Even if he did find their conversations at best egregious, she had not attempted to kill him in his sleep and had even been a comforting presence (though that last part he admitted begrudgingly).

After a few more minutes of updating Watari, L hung up.

For some reason, he felt…relieved. Was that what he was feeling? Why, though? Was it because he found out that Emerson—or Lana, as he had found out—truly was harmless? He had already suspected as such, but the thought that he did not really know anything specific about her past had irked him for an uncertain reason.

_So is that what this is? A polite curiosity? _Either way, he had finally found out who she was.

He was glad for it, too. He rather liked the name Lana. Emerson didn't suit her as well. Unfortunately, he would still have to call her that—to keep up appearances.

He distantly heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Emerson—_Lana_, he reminded himself—had finally awoken.

She emerged from the trapdoor, looking no worse for wear but still tired.

"Ryuuzaki?" she mumbled, brushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Talking to myself. I find that it often helps me put things into perspective."

"Weirdo. Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"Yes. I took the liberty of putting some jars of vegetables and those delightful chocolate cream cakes in our bag."

"Good. We should get going, then."

"I was just waiting for you to get up. You sleep as though you are in a coma. I almost considered slapping you awake."

"Ha-ha. Very clever, Ryuuzaki. I'm sure all the girls you've dated loved that attitude."

She seemed to realize that she said something wrong, because Lana—as L now referred to her—suddenly looked sheepish.

L was confused. What had she said wrong? It wasn't as though they were dating. He had never dated a woman in his life.

In any case, they both had somewhere to be.

As the two of them walked out of the storage room and approached the entrance to the store, they immediately went on their guard.

"We have to be careful," Lana told him, "since a bunch of infected people may be out here somewhere. We need to—"

As the pair walked out the doors and turned towards the street, Lana gasped and paused mid-sentence, stiffening so suddenly in front of the detective that he nearly walked into her.

"Emerson?" he asked. "What is it?"

He stepped around her, and saw for himself why she had halted.

"Will," she whispered sadly, her hand over her mouth. The friendly orange cat was lying sprawled on his side, his once-silky fur dirty and matted with blood. His eyes were empty and sightless, his limbs limp and tilted at odd angles.

He was very much dead.

Even worse was the fact that there were visible bloody footsteps next to the body. They led to the street, but faded away at the sidewalk. L could not tell which direction they went in.

"Who would do this? It must have been one of the infected…"

L knew that she was wrong. He didn't know how, but something about this just felt…suspicious. It was as though someone had_ planted _Will there for them to see…

…and L had a fairly good inkling of who.

It was a message.

_**See what I'm doing? Do you think you can catch me, L? **_

"No," he said aloud. "It's too perfect. It's like he was placed here for us to see."

"By who? What kind of sick freak…?"

She turned to look at him slowly. "Ryuuzaki…you don't think it's _him_, do you?"

"I don't have concrete proof, but I would say that there is at least a five-point-six percent chance that B is responsible for this."

"That's not a lot."

"If you had my experience, you would know that is a substantial probability. But even if it's not B, it's clear we are being targeted."  
"Why would he let us know that? Wouldn't he want to catch us off guard?"

"You don't know B. He enjoys playing games with people, and leaving hints. He is very crafty…we need to keep our eyes open, Emerson. Knowing B, he has another plan in mind. I'm guessing it's got something to do with the hole in that fence."

L heard her swallow. "Got it. Let's be extra careful, then. Eyes on the prize." She reached into her pocket, and her fingers pulled something out. A switchblade knife, in all its deadly glory.

_Huh. So she really could have stabbed me in the back last night. It's a bit ironic. _

_But as far as escorts go, she is probably the most trustworthy one I can find._

* * *

As they began their trek to find Stripes, Lana was aggravated.

At Will's murderer, but also at Ryuuzaki's attempt to speak with her.

Not even twenty minutes into their walk, the raccoon-eyed man had decided to ask her another question. To say the least, she was irritated.

"What happened to your eye?"

_Wow. He really does know how to push my buttons. This guy deserves a prize_. "Why do you care?"

In truth, that particular aspect of Lana's life had become so commonplace that it hardly bothered her anymore. She had dissociated her appearance from the death of her family—which was another reason why Takada's probing had irked her so much. It had brought up bad memories.

"It's not that I care. I merely have a polite curiosity. I didn't mean to offend you."

Lana relented, letting out a guilty sigh. "I'm not offended, Ryuuzaki. I know it's gross."

A phantom pain shot through her eye. "I got slashed with a knife. That's it."

"I see. Was it an iron knife?"

"Why the hell does that matter?"

"Because of the color. Eyes don't turn that rusty blue from just any knife."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm assuming you were not naturally born with two different colored eyes. I have solved cases involving people whose eye pigment has been altered due to an injury. Specifically, a puncture wound often caused by iron weapons. Do you know what ocular siderosis is?"

Lana shook her head, now mildly curious.

"It's an eye condition caused by the introduction of foreign substances, most notably iron. The particles can concentrate in the eye and also change the color through the process of oxidation. That's why your eye looks rusty and clouded."

"So that's what I have. Huh. I never knew. Piper was a nursing student, but she hadn't gotten her degree yet. Maybe she never learned about it." She looked towards the sky. "I guess it's nice to know. To be able to put a name to it. Makes it seem a lot less cool, though."

Ryuuzaki looked at her strangely, but Lana spoke up before he could say anything. "How do you know all of that, though? Are you an FBI agent or a doctor?"

"I never said I was an FBI agent."

Lana whipped around, a horribly confused look on her face. "What the hell are you talking about? I thought you said you worked with Agent Misora!"

"Yes, but that does not mean I am an agent. I am more of a detective. I have amassed knowledge in a variety of subject areas."

"What the fuck, Ryuuzaki? You should at least be honest about your job! How am I supposed to trust you?"

"I should be asking you that, Emerson. You haven't been very forthcoming about your past."

"That's because it doesn't matter. I'm helping you. I'm sticking my neck out on the off chance that you keep your promise to me! What, do you think it's easy for me to trust some dude with weird hair and eye makeup with my life? You could at least tell me what your job is. This could all be bullshit!"

"I do not wear eye makeup. And if you believe that, why don't you walk away?"

Lana's eyes narrowed. "You know I can't do that."

"And why not? I'm sure there are plenty of old grocery stores for you to raid."

"Please just shut up before I kill you. You would totally die without me."

"So now you are threatening me? If you want to attack me, be my guest. I would enjoy another opportunity to have a one-on-one match with you."

His calm tone was infuriating. Lana couldn't tell if he was bluffing or not, but she snickered anyway. "Whatever, Ryuuzaki. It's always so difficult with you. You're so damn serious. It's bizarre."

"So are you."

"How am _I_ bizarre?"

"You claim to be unemotional, yet you anger at the slightest provocation. You contradict yourself."

"No I don't!"

He ignored her; he seemed to be on a roll. "Are you sure that you are unemotional, or is that just what you would like to believe?"

"Goddammit! I give up! You know what, Ryuuzaki? _Fine_. You win. I'm just some whiny, hypocritical bitch with anger issues. From now on I'll just keep my mouth shut and you can go on being a narcissistic asshole. That sound good?"

"You should not call yourself that."

His quiet tone startled her; Lana had been expecting him to retaliate. "What?"

"You should not belittle yourself by using such a callous word. That is not what you are, even if you do act like it on occasion."

Lana thought he would yell at her—or at least agree with her sarcastic self-evaluation. But…

_Is he trying to reassure me? _

"Why aren't you fighting back? I just called you an asshole, in case you didn't notice."

"For some reason, arguing with you is not altogether unpleasant. But I find myself disgruntled by you calling yourself such a harsh word. I don't particularly like cursing."

His eyes flitted over to her, the dark orbs seeming to really be seeing her in that moment. For the first time, Lana felt as though he were staring into her soul. A prickling sensation traveled all over her skin, and she felt a flush creep onto her face.

"Well, thanks for your concern…I guess."

The two walked in silence for a few more minutes, with Lana pondering what he had just said to her. He didn't like that she called herself a bitch, even if she was being sarcastic (and had called him names on several occasions).

Why? Did he just not like obscene language?

_Yeah, that has to be it. It's not like we're friends or anything. We tolerate each other. That's all it is. _

Lana was very good at denial.

"Ryuuzaki…" she began tentatively, but paused in her tracks. Her eyes snapped up and her head tilted to the side. "You heard that too, right?" she whispered, her muscles tensing.

"Yes." The detective looked around warily, his features cold and calculating.

Lana had heard something in the distance. It had come from behind them…

The pair slowly turned around, and stared confusedly at the figure behind them. He—_or she,_ Lana added—was still fairly far behind, but was clearly following. They seemed to be injured, their shambling gait stopping them from going any faster. Their head was lowered, their body swathed only in the dirtiest rags imaginable.

Lana's heart seized in her chest. "Ryuuzaki," she whispered, fear lacing its way into her very bones, "we have to run. _Now_."

She grabbed the man's arm, pulling on it slightly to get his attention.

He looked over at her. "Do you know them?"

She shook her head, adrenaline beginning to pump through her veins. "No. It's one of them. It's one of the infected."

With that, she turned and started running, pulling Ryuuzaki along with her. She had thought the man would trip, but he was remarkably light on his feet. The two raced down the sidewalk, air whipping at their skin and clothes.

The figure gave a low growl from behind them, voicing its frustration with its escaping prey.

"Shit, shit, shit, _shit_!" Lana mumbled as she tried to pump her legs harder. "All of these buildings are boarded up! How are we going to get out of this?!"

"We'll have to find a place that is not," Ryuuzaki said. "If we just—"

As they darted past a corner, a figure dove at them, interrupting the pale detective.

Snarling and spitting, the woman latched onto the man's arm, her rabid face coated with a thick layer of blood and grime that splattered from her mouth as she hissed at them.

"_Ryuuzaki!"_ Lana cried, grabbing the man and pulling him backward.

The woman stayed attached as she clutched his leg instead, even as she fell to her stomach on the cement. Lana didn't have time to warn Ryuuzaki when she saw the deadly glint of the knife—

Just as it was sunk deeply into his thigh.

Lana screamed in terror and fury as she dove in front of her wounded companion, kicking the sick woman's hand away. She heard a sickening _crack_ as the blonde howled in pain, rolling to her side as she clutched her broken wrist. Lana kicked her in the side for good measure before turning back to the injured man.

His eyes were wide, his mouth open in a silent cry even though the expression in his orbs revealed to Lana his true agony. She managed to catch him before his leg gave out, and threw his arm around her neck just as he had done for her.

She began hobbling with him as fast as she could, trying to cross the car-filled street at a much slower pace than before. Lana could hear the woman trying to crawl after them—but she also heard something else.

Shuffling footsteps and low growls permeated the air, and Lana looked up in horror.

All around them, in every direction, were infected people. There had to be at least fifteen of them, some with broken limbs who were stumbling as if drunk, others who were almost naked. One old woman was moving faster than the rest, her torso bare and wrinkly breasts sagging and bloody.

_No, no, no! We're totally fucked! How am I going to…?_

Suddenly, she saw it. Across the street there was an alleyway that led to an obscure back street. It was a long shot, but it was their only chance.

She began dragging herself and Ryuuzaki over to the alley, her sandals scraping roughly against the asphalt. Her companion tried to help her, his uninjured leg hopping with her steps. Still, they were moving much too slowly for Lana's liking. She could see that the sickos were fast approaching.

If they didn't lose some weight, they were almost certainly going to die.

"Emerson," she heard Ryuuzaki's voice strain slightly. "You should leave me behind. Take the bag. I have a…"

She didn't let him finish. "_Hell,_ no. I'm not leaving you here, Ryuuzaki. I can't do this on my own."

"If you don't let go of me, we will both die."

"If I let you die here alone, I'd never…" _I'd never forgive myself._ "I'd never get back home. Besides, you saved me once. I'm just returning the favor. An eye for an eye, right?" She grunted, hitching Ryuuzaki's weight over her shoulder again. He was starting to feel heavier.

"Even if you save me, I'm as good as dead anyway. I'm losing too much blood."

"Stop trying to give up! Stay with me, Ryuuzaki!"

The two had made it past the alley and reached a chain-link fence that ran along a perpendicular street. A dumpster sat just around the corner, and Lana nearly sobbed in relief. Hope crested in her heart; she had an idea.

It wouldn't stop their pursuers, but it would buy them some time.

As gently as she could, the woman set Ryuuzaki down against the brick wall, and began pulling on the giant wheeled trash bin. The groans and screams of the infected got closer; they were almost here.

"_Come back here_!" a male voice shrieked, unnerving Lana further. "_Don't try to get away from me, bitch_!"

She could faintly hear the sounds of some of them fighting and tearing at each other, and she tried to block it out; a few of them were still heading towards Lana and Ryuuzaki.

But she was ready.

As soon as they came around the corner, Lana yelled a battle cry, shoving the dumpster forward with all of her strength. There were several dull thuds as the metal bin mowed them all over, and cries of anger and agony filled her ears fit to bursting.

The dumpster completely blocked off the entire pathway, and Lana sighed in relief—but began to panic once again as she ran over to Ryuuzaki's slouched form.

His chin was resting on his chest, and the blood pooling under his impaled leg almost convinced Lana that he was dead.  
"Don't die on me, Ryuuzaki." Her voice shook as she once again picked the detective up. His body was nearly limp now, the blood loss making it difficult for him to stay upright.

But he was still conscious. His head bumped against hers, his nose pressing against her neck as his eyelids fluttered. He was somehow even paler than he was already, and his breath was becoming shallower.

"Please leave me behind, Emerson."

"Ryuuzaki?"

"Yes?"

"Shut the fuck up for once, and let me save you. I won't leave you behind. I won't leave anyone else to die. I'll kill myself first. I can't…I can't do it again…"

Soon enough, the pair had managed to hobble towards a large building that was separated by the fence. It was huge and old, its imposing stature made up of aged gray brick. There was a white sign on the fence. Although it had been chipped and weathered away by time, Lana could still make out the words._ Parkerville Warehouse_ flashed at Lana though the dirt that was painted on it.

_Parkerville? That's the old clothing warehouse next to the factory. We should be safe in there, if there are no sick people in it. But how can we get in? _

Lana searched frantically for something, anything, that would allow them to get inside. But the fence was solid; there were no holes or lesions that she could see, and the gate beside them was chained shut and locked. No matter how many times she tried to jimmy it, the gate wouldn't budge.

_Please open!_ She begged desperately.

Lana didn't believe in God—she never had, especially after what had happened—but now it seemed that all she could do was pray and hope that someone or something would save her and Ryuuzaki. The dumpster would not hold the infected people back forever; it was more of a stalling tactic than anything else. Even now, the terrified woman could hear the metal trash bin squeaking as their pursuers pushed against it, hissing out death threats and obscenities.

"Dammit!" Lana croaked out, stumbling down the walkway in search of another entrance.

Ryuuzaki was barely conscious, his feet nearly dragging against the ground and causing her to trip up every few steps. They were nearly to the end of the alley. Another gate stood several feet in front of them, locked just as tightly as the one they had already passed.

Breathing heavily and with sweat rolling down her face, Lana turned around and stared at the dumpster. It was shifting and twitching as the infected rammed their weakened bodies into it, but none had gotten around it yet.

Then, with dawning horror, Lana glimpsed a bony hand reach over the top. Another followed, and with a loud grunt, a man made his way onto the lid.

One of the sick was climbing over.

His face was gaunt and horrific as he stared Lana down, his eyes hazy and filled to the brim with unimaginable anger that caused her blood to freeze. His hair was a tangle of wires that fell past his shoulders, and his unshaven face become visible as he landed on his knees in front of the dumpster. He pushed himself up slowly, and in Lana's mounting fear she saw him as a skeleton, a lifeless husk of what was once a human being.

"Shit!" she said out loud, her limbs paralyzed and refusing to move.

But where could she go? She had reached a dead end, and her only companion was currently bleeding out all over the ground. There was no one around to help them.

They were both going to die.

Lana had exhausted every option available to save them both, but it had not been enough.

Still, she had never been one to give up.

There was only one thing left for her to do, and it was as dangerous as it was possibly helpful. Danger had never stopped her before, though.

With her mind a blank slate and with the sick man lumbering towards her and the man she was carrying on her shoulder, Lana did the only thing she could.

She opened her mouth, and screamed.

"_Help us!" _

* * *

He was alone.

He was always alone, ever since his parents had left and never returned. Thankfully, they had left most of the food behind; every time they had gone out scouting, they only took the bare minimum.

_We'll only be gone a few days,_ they would say. _Be a good boy, and don't go outside, okay? _

So he hadn't. Even after a whole week had passed—the longest time they had ever been gone—he never went out to look for them. He was only too aware of the things that lurked outside in the darkness. He had been taught to play it safe after a life of growing up the way he had. He hardly even remembered what life was like before the monsters had come.

This made it easy to stay cooped up inside.

It had been, by his estimates, around a year since his parents had disappeared. It couldn't have been longer than that, because he had been keeping track of the canned food that remained.

What a calm year it had been, too. He had really gotten to know himself, even if he had forgotten what his own voice sounded like. He hadn't had any human contact in all of that time.

Ironically enough, though, he had gotten used to it. Now, the thought of touching another human was aversive to him. He much preferred toys.

Currently, he sat on the floor in his room. An old puzzle sat in front of him, some of its pieces scattered on the floor around it. He had done it hundreds of times, but it never got boring to him. Even the completed image—a stark white background with his initial in one corner—was still satisfying to him. Repetition was comforting to the boy.

He was about to complete his puzzle for the six hundred and fifty-sixth time when he heard something—a noise he thought he would never hear again.

A woman was screaming.

"_Help us!"_ she cried, her voice high and terrified. _"Someone, please help!" _

'_Us?' Is she not alone? _

The pleas for help were coming from outside.

Mildly curious, the boy got up and went outside, the light of day making him squint in pain. From within the fence, he could see two strangers.

One was the woman whom he presumed had been screaming, and the other was a man—but he was slouched over, his limp form hanging off of the dark-haired woman's side.

A monster was coming after them—and from the sounds of angry grunts and yelling, there were more coming.

He never imagined that he would see people again; he was tempted to just ignore it and go back to doing his puzzle. Then he remembered something that his parents had said to him about not trusting strangers, but his gut was telling him not to listen to them.

Sighing, he approached the gate behind them and took out the key that his parents had given him before they left.

* * *

Lana had screamed her voice raw. No one was coming; the man was edging closer and closer.

This was it. They really were going to die here. There was nothing else that she could do.

"I'm sorry, Ryuuzaki," she whispered aloud, staring down at the infected man.

At least she could go down fighting.

"Over here."

Dumbstruck, Lana stiffened.

_Was that a…a voice? _

She turned around, and nearly fainted.

Behind the gate stood a young boy. He couldn't have been more than twelve; he was small and slight, dressed in pale blue pajama pants and a white shirt that matched his shaggy, stark white hair.

He stared at her, and she saw him clutching a set of keys in his hand.

"It's open. Come inside quickly so they go away."

Lana didn't need to be told twice. She nearly sobbed in relief as she pulled Ryuuzaki through the gate with her—just as the infected man reached out and grabbed a handful of air from the place where she was previously standing.

The boy slammed the gate closed on his head, knocking him backwards as he released a bloodcurdling scream of fury. The boy relocked the gate expertly and turned to face Lana, his features expressionless.

The two stared at each other in silence for a few moments as Lana tried to regain her bearings. _This _boy had saved her and Ryuuzaki?

She opened her mouth to express her gratitude, but the boy beat her to it. When he spoke, his voice was air.

"We should go inside."

* * *

**I had to bring him in. Who doesn't love Near? **

**Don't forget to review!**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	10. Flicker or Flash, Another Gun

**Author's Note: Yo. Nice to be back, huh? I should probably study more, but I've been feeling like writing more often. Funny how that works. I already started working on the next chapter, though, so hopefully I get it done even with the massive amount of other stuff that I've been avoiding.**

**To WildfireDreams: I hope this satiates your thirst! (Figuratively, of course.) Don't hate me when you get to the end, though. **

**To version15: I really want to have all of the canon characters (the ones I can fit in, anyway) interact with Lana at some point. I enjoy trying to get into their heads and think about how they would react towards a certain type of person.**

**This is just a random thought, but I think Lana's most like Mello when you compare her to all of the canon characters. They're both kind of impulsive and emotional, but Lana's more sensitive, I think (even if she tries not to show it sometimes). I didn't base her off of him, but I do think they share certain attributes. **

**Warnings: Violence, Blood/Gore, Profanity, Partial nudity. **

**Enjoy the chapter! Double digits, man!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Flicker or Flash, Another Gun **

The roar of the motorcycle was nearly as intimidating as the person riding it.

As the two-wheeled vehicle sped down the street, weaving through the bulky cars, it seemed to the rider to take on a life of its own. Serenity coiled around him like a snake around a throat, squeezing his heart and his throat and his lungs—

And then it ended as his helmeted head detected another sound, this one decidedly less welcome.

A chorus of groans and shouts was echoing from the alleyway to his left. He slowed down, pulling the bike over to the side of the road. He removed his helmet, freeing his shoulder-length blonde hair to the cool afternoon air.

Brushing the stray strands out of his face as he dismounted, the young man made his way down the alley. As he approached the corner, the shouts grew louder, and his ears deciphered the hateful words being spewed.

"Get the fuck back here, you bitch!"

"I know you did it! Give it back!"

"I'm so hungry…"

"Mother! Mother, come back! _It's Lucy!"_ shouted a girl who could be no more than twelve._  
_

"Get off me!" _Smack._

The man tensed, and his fingers twitched towards the weapon concealed on his thigh. They were all infected.

_Dammit! How did they get all the way here so soon? I didn't want to get my hands dirty. _

He placed his helmet back on grudgingly, and withdrew his double barrel. He cocked it, pitting his back against the wall. He inched towards the corner, and took a deep breath.

With barely a second thought, he jumped out at the voices.

A group of crazies were busy clawing at one another as well as at a dumpster; some of them were trying to squeeze their emaciated bodies around it, while others were even trying in vain to climb over it. With no hesitation, the blonde pointed his gun at one of the bobbing heads and pulled the trigger.

_Boom!_

Blood and the crimson mess of brains splattered on the dumpster, and the old woman fell dead to the ground, half of her straw-covered head gone. Th gaping hole seemed to grin up at him. The others whipped around to look at him and snarled threateningly, some of them hissing curses while others whispered pleas for mercy.

"Bring it on, you fuckers," he said with a smirk.

He took each of them out one by one—or tried to. He accidentally took out two with a single bullet when one ricocheted loudly off a metal trashcan. He expertly dodged their lunges and attacks, winding around them and blowing bullets out the front of their skulls. Soon enough, there was a pile of bodies lying at his feet. The salty, iron smell of blood wafted through the air as he dropped the empty bullet shells on the ground, the tinkling sound music to his ears.

"I used too many damn bullets," he muttered, checking the remaining supply around his waist. "Can't stay out too much longer. The idiot will be worried…"

Something else caught his eye. Starting from the beginning of the alley, there had been a trail of blood. He had figured it was from one of the sick who had a cut, but he could see now that it continued under the dumpster.

_Why would they be gathered here, trying to get past it? They must've been chasing something…or someone. Well, it can't hurt to check it out. We might get some supplies out of it. It's better to be safe than sorry. _

The blonde man hefted himself over the dumpster, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he did so. He could smell the sweat of old bodies, rotten eggs, and trash even through his helmet.

Sure enough, the blood trail led all the way to the end of the walkway; there were even some bloody footprints, although those were fainter.

_Wait…footprints. That means someone was walking with both feet. So where did that trail come from? They must have been dragging someone else. Could a sick person who had to have been damn near starving all this time physically carry another person who, by the looks of it, can't move themselves? _

The blonde man noticed something else.

A writhing figure was lying on its back in front of the gate that ran along the walkway. He approached cautiously, cocking his gun again. The blonde could tell that the guy was infected as well, as he was hissing and spitting like a cat, mumbling incoherently from where he was lying on the ground.

With one bullet of mercy, the man stopped writhing forever.

But the trail still continued, all the way to the gate and even past it. Whoever had been running away had managed to get inside.

_But how?_ the man thought as he pulled at the lock. _This thing's locked up tight. Do they have keys to this place or something? There's no way you could hop a fence while carrying someone, and the trail never cuts off. Maybe…maybe they live here. And if they live here, they've got to have supplies. _

The man still didn't completely understand what had happened, but one thing was certain: he was sure as hell going to find out.

* * *

"I need to stop the bleeding."

Lana was trying desperately not to panic as she deposited the limp body of the pale detective. She set him on the cold gray floor as gently as possible, cradling his head so as not to give him a concussion as well.

There was no time to spare. She uttered a mental apology to Ryuuzaki before grabbing the hilt of the knife and ripping it out of his thigh with an awful squelching sound. It clattered to the ground loudly, but the man did not awaken. Blood started flowing faster, but immediately began to slow again. _Not good._

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the white-haired boy shuffling to her left. He sat down on his butt, one leg propped up by his foot and the other bent at the knee. He watched as she placed two shaking fingers on Ryuuzaki's neck, searching for a pulse.

It was faint, but he was alive—and that was all that mattered.

"Do you have anything absorbent?" she asked the boy. "Anything I can use to stop the bleeding?"

He shook his head, his dark eyes looking right through her.

"Dammit."

Lana looked around the room. It was completely empty, save for the collapsed boxes that leaned tiredly against the walls and the remnants of an unfinished puzzle.

_Nothing. But I have to stop the bleeding—I have to save him! _

_ I won't be responsible for anyone else's death. _

She only had one option.

Sincerely hoping that she wasn't about to scar the young boy for life, Lana tore off her black wife beater. She flicked her switchblade open, and began ripping her shirt to shreds. _Thank God I'm wearing a sports bra_.

Her face was burning. "Sorry about this, kid." She tore off a long strip of black cloth, and lifted Ryuuzaki's leg. She tied the band around it, making it tight enough to staunch the flow of blood. The pool was already slowing its growth, and Lana knew that wasn't a good sign; it meant he was running out of it. She tore off three more thick strips and wrapped them around the wound—not tightly enough to be called a makeshift tourniquet, but enough to slow the flow of blood and give the injury a chance to clot.

_I need to elevate his leg. _

She grabbed the rucksack she had dropped on the floor and slid it under his ankle. There; hopefully that would take care of it.

Lana was breathing hard; her heart was a drum pounding to a beat inside her ears.

_Please don't die on me, Ryuuzaki. _

Seemingly out of nowhere, she remembered with embarrassment that she was shirtless in front of a young boy. She flushed, feeling slightly guilty for making him stare at her partial nudity.

He didn't seem to care, though. He was staring at her face, giving the scarred woman the distinct impression that he was analyzing her every move. It felt peculiar for a kid to act that way.

"Um…" she began nervously, "do you know where I can find some new clothes?"

Without uttering a word, the kid stood up and walked towards a door on the other side of the room. Lana heard the jingle of keys as he unlocked it, the heavy door making a loud creaking noise as he swung it open. She got up and followed him, nodding her thanks as she stepped inside.

He seemed to be about to turn around when she grabbed his slight shoulder, gently pulling him back to face her.

"Thank you. If…if he stops breathing, or wakes up, just call for me, okay?"

The boy nodded, and Lana smiled at him.

The large door clicked shut behind her, echoing in the huge room she now found herself in. She tried the doorknob, just to be on the safe side; she found that it only locked on the outside. She was still able to turn the knob from her side.

When she looked around, the first thing she noticed was that the room she was in was _big._ The ceiling had to be at least thirty feet high, with huge rectangular fluorescent lights that had lost their power source long ago. Maybe there was a back-up generator, but it was dubious whether or not the kid would be able to find it, know how to use it, or be able to keep it running. The only light sources were the large windows that she could see near the top of the walls.

And the _boxes._ Lana had never been in a warehouse before, but she supposed this was to be expected.

Box after box lined the many tall shelves that extended across the entire room, as far as she could see. Some of them were on the floor, opened and with cloth of all colors spilling out of them. A pyramid of cardboard stood to Lana's right, but these ones were different. Instead of being plain and brown, these were of various kinds: one was an old beer case, another was stamped with a picture of an ancient DVD player. Some were plain, but of vastly different shapes and sizes.

And they were all full of food, to her delight and relief—though it was clear someone had been eating from them for a period of time.

_ How did that kid get all of this food by himself? And those keys…where did he get them from? Where are his parents? _

She hoped for his sake that they weren't dead, but right now she had other things on her mind. Like Ryuuzaki.

Lana was no doctor, but she knew enough to know that getting stabbed in the leg could be fatal if a main artery was punctured. His bleeding had been immense, but she knew if she had tried to tie her shirt any tighter he might have ended up losing circulation in his leg. If that happened and the limb was rendered useless, she may as well have slit his throat herself. If he couldn't walk…she would have to either take care of him or let him die. And she knew that, based on the way things had progressed so far, if she was dragging a disabled Ryuuzaki around the city they would both be dead in a heartbeat.

Yet she knew that she would prefer that to him dying. Why? He was an annoying, arrogant prick who occasionally said things that were less insulting than usual. She had told him she hated him, and it was true. Or it _had_ been true at the time—had she really grown so attached to him in such a short period? No, she was probably just going crazy from being alone and had latched onto the nearest person.

_In the absence of those we care for, I suppose anyone will do. _

Lana suddenly remembered why she had gone in there.

_I need new clothes—this old bra's gotta go. _

Not knowing where anything was or how it was organized, she picked a box at random and began rifling through it.

_Hmph. Nothing but jean shorts and frilly blouses. Not exactly survival gear—next one. _

The scarred woman had dug through at least six boxes before she came upon something useful. A pair of hunter green parachute pants grinned up at her from the large box, its many pockets glistening with shiny zippers and buttons.

_Perfect_, she thought, grabbing a pair in her size. She hurriedly changed, admiring the way the material hung off of her curves—not too loose, but not skin-tight, allowing for freedom of movement.

Something else in the box caught her eye as well. Several pairs of mens' jeans sat stacked on top of one another, almost exactly the same as the ones Ryuuzaki had been wearing. The ones that were now soaked in blood.

_I should get him a new pair, too. _

She guessed his size, and commenced her search for a shirt. She found one fairly quickly—a black button-up that was almost definitely made for a man, based on the side the buttons were on—as well as a new sports bra. She also managed to scavenge successfully for a long-sleeved white shirt for the man currently passed out in the other room. She wasn't exactly able to glean his fashion sense, and so she figured it was best to simply find him an exact replacement for his dirtied clothes.

Lana had the sudden hilarious sensation that she was shopping for clothes for a friend, something so normal that it sounded ridiculous even to her. _It's funny_, she thought as she blushed, _how similar everything feels to the way it used to be_. On occasion, while she was still at Waterfront, she had even forgot that the world outside was nearly desolate; she had become so accustomed to everything being the way it was.

She was about to head back when something else caught her eye. A pair of shoes was sitting abandoned on the floor on the other side of the shelf. She went over to examine them, and was overcome by a sense of awe and admiration. They were Doc Martens, with wide inch-high heels that looked as if they could squash someone's face. They were made of smooth leather, and had long laces that wound all the way up past her ankle.

_Nice_. She slipped them on, savoring how snug and comfortable they felt on her sore feet when compared to her sandals.

Feeling thoroughly more relaxed in her new garments, Lana headed back to the other room. When she went back in, everything was as she had left it (_though_, she thought with a bit of irony, _perhaps not as it should be_). The boy was sitting silently beside Ryuuzaki's unconscious body, staring curiously at his face. The pool of blood under his leg hadn't grown by much, and she was relieved as she sat down beside him and felt his pulse. So he was still alive, and the bleeding had slowed down considerably. That was a good sign—maybe he would pull through.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Lana couldn't shake off the anxiety she was feeling at the thought of Ryuuzaki's condition. Although she didn't want to admit it, she was terrified that he would die. She tried to tell herself that this was because he wouldn't be able to help her get off the blasted continent, but in all honesty that was one of the last things on her mind.

Right now, she would gladly give up her chance at escape if it meant that her companion would pull through. Had she completely lost her mind? She must have, if she was entertaining so morbid a thought—and all for a man she did not know.

But as she watched the detective's relaxed face and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, she found that it didn't bother her in the slightest. She just didn't want him to die.

"Do you have any water?" she asked the white-haired boy, who slowly turned to look at her. "I need to make sure he's hydrated enough. He lost a lot of blood." She swallowed. "Please?"

The boy got up and went into the other room, handing Lana a water bottle when he came back.

"Thank you, um…" She trailed off. "What's your name, kid?"

He stared at her for a moment, as though he were lost in thought. She was about to repeat her question when he spoke. "Near," he said with finality.

Lana blinked; that didn't sound like a real name to her, but she decided not to pry. "Okay, Near," she said, "can you lift his head up for me?"

Near did as she asked, and she uncapped the bottle and poured some of the cool liquid down the pale man's throat, watching his throat constrict as she did so.

"Okay. That's it."

Near placed Ryuuzaki's head back on the ground, his movements mechanical and unsympathetic. Lana was not surprised; the kid had probably never had to take care of another person before. He barely looked old enough to be taking care of himself. Speaking of which…

"Near," she began, "are you alone?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been alone?"

"One year."

A whole year? She tried not to let her shock show on her face. This kid had survived by himself all that time? "How old are you?"

"I think twelve."

So her estimate had been right after all. But that still didn't answer all of her questions. She swallowed, not liking what she was going to ask him next. "Near, where are your parents?"

His eyes were blank; she could detect no flicker or flash of emotion in them. "Gone," he said simply.

"Gone?"

"They left one day and never came back. I think they are dead by now."

Lana's heart sank. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, his eyes landing on the color-leached floor.

Lana spoke before she thought. "My parents are dead, too. I know how you feel. Just know that you're not alone anymore, okay?"

He didn't seem to be listening, or even give off the impression that he cared about what she was saying. Sighing in resignation, the woman gave up trying to comfort the boy and went back to scrutinizing Ryuuzaki's face for any signs of awakening. He looked almost peaceful, but was deathly white. He looked as though he were at his own wake.

With an unpleasant jolt, Lana was reminded of the pile of clothes that sat by her feet, waiting patiently for someone to put them on. She blushed feverishly when she realized what she was going to have to do. She had no choice but to change Ryuuzaki's clothes herself—she couldn't very well ask a twelve-year-old boy to do it.

_Nurses do this crap all the time. Surely I can handle it, too, right? _

_ Right._

She prayed silently that the detective wouldn't wake up while she was doing it—she really didn't want to add "sexual predator" to the list of incriminating facts about herself.

She decided to start with his shirt, since that seemed to be the least offensive of the two garments. She pulled the soiled white cloth over his head, ruffling his spiky hair as she did so. It took much longer than she expected; his gangly arms got in her way. She threw his shirt to the side, and her eyes locked on his bare torso.

He was skinny, just as she had thought—but not disgustingly so. His chest was almost pure white, like that of a statue chiseled out of marble. Not a freckle or blemish tainted his pearly skin, as though he had not been exposed to the sun for at least a few years of his life. He also had a fair amount of lean muscle. That explained his strength; he may have been thin, but he was certainly not weak. She had felt that when he pushed her away from him, and she saw it now with her own eyes.

Lana tried in vain to conceal her blush as she pulled the clean shirt over Ryuuzaki's head and slid his arms through the sleeves, then proceeded to unbutton his pants. At this point, her comfort zone had been all but decimated with a nuclear missile; she really didn't feel comfortable undressing an unconscious man, especially with a kid present. But she had to do it; she couldn't very well leave him to stew in his own puddle of blood. It would not leave her conscience alone to do so.

She let out a sigh of relief as she pulled his jeans down; at least he was wearing boxers. It would save them both from some degree of humiliation.

Without his loose-fitting jeans, she could see the contours of his legs: his lanky limbs, knobby knees, and clearly muscled calves. He had obviously trained in something-perhaps a martial art, based upon his skill-but had avoided getting bulky. It occurred to her that it was probably because he didn't want people to know how strong he really was. He gave off a calm, unsuspecting appearance to anyone who didn't know him. He was strange, creepy, and definitely stood out in a crowd, but he didn't look like a fighter—which, in Lana's eyes, only made him that much more of an enigma.

After a few more torturous minutes of dress-up, the scarred woman finally succeeded in buttoning up Ryuuzaki's new trousers, and sat back tiredly on her hindquarters.

She sighed in relief. "Thank God he didn't wake up. That would've been a doozy to explain. Knowing him, he would've asked if I was trying to seduce him. Dick. Oh—sorry, kid. Guess I shouldn't curse in front of you, huh?"

Near shrugged, clearly apathetic. "I do not care. Say whatever you like. I have heard much worse."

"Oh really? You don't seem like that type of kid."

"I suppose I am not. Other people find release in saying bad words. I find release in playing with toys."

Lana stared forlornly up at the gray ceiling. "Everyone has their own method of stress relief, right?" She turned her head towards Near's incomplete puzzle, the pieces now scattered around the room even more than they had been (due in large part to her panicked state). "You like to do puzzles?"

"Yes."

"So you like to build things. To create."

Near stared passively at her. "You could say that, but it is fanciful. I do it because it passes the time and relaxes me. There is no deeper meaning, if that is what you are looking for."

"Is that how it is? I'm sorry to hear that."

The two sat in utter silence for a few long seconds, until Lana decided to break the ice by asking him something she had been waiting for him to address.

"Near, why don't you ask me about my eye?"

It wasn't that she wanted to talk about it or even draw attention to it—quite the contrary, actually. But for the first time, someone—a young boy, no less—had shown a complete lack of interest and attention to Lana's scarred face and eye. While Ryuuzaki had also reacted differently than most people (he had outright asked her about it, completely out of the blue, and to someone he did not even know), it had been opposite to Near's reaction. The detective had risked her getting angry or hitting him just for the sake of curiosity. Most people Lana came across either stared at her scar or avoided looking at her altogether.

Yet, contrary to those people and Ryuuzaki—the nosy bastard—this boy showed no curiosity at all. He stared her right in the eyes, rather than around them. Why?

Near answered almost immediately. "Because I do not care."

Lana gaped at him. He didn't care? That was it? She was shocked at first, but then, she did something that caused even Near's eyes to widen fractionally.

She laughed. The sheer effort caused her sides to shake painfully and uncontrollably as air whooshed in and out of her lungs. A tear pushed at the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away carelessly, her jubilant laughter dying down to mere chuckles. "Damn, kid. You're funny, y'know that?"

Her guffaws dissipated, and they were once again left in complete silence, Lana being left to wonder just what the hell exactly she was still smiling about.

At once, the familiar sound of static pierced her ears. It was faint, but she was bewildered, thinking that the radio in her bag had somehow been turned on. She unzipped the rucksack and was searching for the damned thing when Near interrupted her.

"It's not coming from there," he told her. He inclined his head towards Ryuuzaki, whose unconscious body, Lana now realized, was the source of the static. But how was that possible? The only transmitter they had was the radio…right?

"But…that doesn't make any sense."

She leaned over his prone form, lowering her head to his. A faint crackling was coming from his body.

_It can't be his throat, can it? Humans don't make that kind of noise._

Then, to her shock, someone began calling. She leaned closer, her brows furrowing in concentration as she strained to hear what they were saying. What was it? It sounded like…

"_Ryuuzaki?"_

Lana's eyes ballooned to twice their normal size. Someone was calling his name! But that was impossible! Unless…

"Look at his ear," Near suggested, following her own train of thought.

The woman moved his shaggy black hair out of the way, her fingers digging into his earlobe. She reached inside his ear, mildly disgusted by the intrusion. Nothing. She decided she might as well try the other side—

There. She felt it. Something smooth, plastic, and small. She pulled it out with two fingers, staring at the round device in confusion. It was black and spherical, with one half smooth and shiny while the other was covered by a thin, rough webbing.

It was eerily reminiscent of the earbuds Lana used to use to listen to music, and with a jolt she realized what it was.

"A speaker?" she said quietly. On the other end, the man was still talking and asking for Ryuuzaki. His voice became louder and more insistent.

_"Ryuuzaki? Where are you? Can you hear me?" _

Lana chose to ignore him for the moment, whispering quietly to Near: "If there's a speaker, then shouldn't there also be a microphone?"

Her gaze slowly shifted to meet the white-haired boy's, but he said nothing.

In a flash, she dove for the pile of Ryuuzaki's blood-soaked clothing, placing the tiny speaker on his chest. She searched madly through both garments, her heart pounding as she tore blindly through them in search of the device he had apparently been using to communicate with the outside world.

What the hell was wrong with him? Anger flared up in her chest. He didn't think it worth mentioning that he had had contact with the outside world this entire time? People over here were dying, dammit! They needed help! And here was Ryuuzaki, a person who obviously had some sort of clout in society, who was important enough to warrant a way to talk with the people on other continents—and all he cared about was saving the people who hadn't even been affected by the disease. Did he even give a damn that people were suffering? He said he did, but Lana was not so sure.

Just what kind of person had she been protecting?

Finally, her fingers brushed over something solid wrapped in the soft depths of his discarded shirt. Lana wrung the cloth out, and the unmistakable tone of plastic resonated in her ears as a small object clattered to the ground. She picked it up, her breath catching in wonder.

It was a wireless microphone, with a small clip on it where she assumed it had been attached and hidden by Ryuuzaki's shirt.

"Bingo, motherfucker," she whispered irately, forgetting for a split second that Near was sitting right next to her. She was clutching the object so hard that she was surprised it didn't shatter into a million pieces.

"_Hello? Ryuuzaki? Is that you?"_ the man asked from the speaker.

_Shit. He could hear that?_ Her mouth wasn't even that close to the microphone! When she didn't respond, the man began doing something on the other line. Lana's attention was drawn to the distant sound of keys tapping. A few seconds later, he began muttering to himself.

_"Location has been static for almost an hour. Ryuuzaki, if you're alive, please answer me! I heard some commotion on your end. I know your headphone is on. Ryuuzaki? Ryuuzaki!" _The man hesitated before calling out once more in a panicked voice.

_"L!"_

Several things happened simultaneously. Within the span of a few seconds, Lana saw Ryuuzaki shift slightly when the man had uttered that last syllable. What had he said? L, she was sure it had been.

What did that mean? Was it a code? A plan? A place?

A person?

Whatever "L" meant, it soon took second place on the list of Lana's current worries. Because almost as soon as the man had spoken, a loud banging began to emanate from the door.

Someone was trying to break in.

* * *

Scaling a gate may have seemed difficult to some people, but to the angry blonde it was as natural as breathing. His gun and helmet hung on his side as he climbed, the barrel bumping against his thigh as a reminder of its friendly presence.

When he jumped down, he landed lithely on his feet, his eyes roving suspiciously over the landscape.

Where had they gone? His keen blue eyes raked over the trail of blood, which was beginning to thin slightly. Whoever it was didn't look like they were in good shape, yet the trail was still visible enough to follow.

He followed it to where it led—towards the main building. It wasn't a factory or packaging area—there were no chimneys or smokestacks that he could see. This must be where goods are stored.

The man crept quietly on his feet, and he once again removed and cocked his gun, ready to fire if they were infected. He didn't think they were. If either of them had PHD, they wouldn't have been trying to escape from the others. It was more likely that they would have fought back until they died—not to mention the issue of the keys. Why would any of the infected hole up inside, and more importantly, how would they have gotten keys in the first place?

Therefore, the blonde wasn't hoping or planning on killing them, but he wanted what they had: supplies. He wouldn't take all of it (assuming that they had anything to speak of), only enough to tide himself and the idiot over for the time being. But if they happened to fight back—though that was unlikely in the condition they were in—he couldn't be held responsible for what he did.

When he found the door, he was peeved by the fact that it was locked from the inside. He sighed.

_I guess I have to do this the hard way. _

Thoroughly incensed, the blonde began the solemn process of beating down the door.

* * *

Someone had found them.

Lana's heart resumed its fast pace, her chest constricting as her breathing suddenly became more rapid. Had one of the sick people managed to get past the gate? How was that possible? She had heard a lot of booming noises a few minutes ago, but hadn't given it much thought. She just figured it had been the noise caused by some of them trying and failing to get past the dumpster.

_All of these near-death experiences are going to give me a heart attack. _

"We have to hide," she whispered closely to Near.

He shook his head. "Not all of us."

"Why not?"

"Hey! Open up in there. You won't like what happens if you don't," the man on the other side of the door called.

Near ignored him. "He knows someone's in here. At least one of us has to stay."

Lana swallowed the lump in her throat. It couldn't be Ryuuzaki; he was unconscious. Who knew what the man would do to him? And Near was only twelve; there was no way she was going to sacrifice him to save herself. She didn't have it in her.

He reminded her too much of her brother.

So she nodded, feeling as though she had been suddenly dumped in a pool of ice water. "I'll do it. But we have to get you and Ryuuzaki hidden."

The woman and child began moving Ryuuzaki's still-unconscious body. Lana grabbed him under the armpits, while Near got a firm hold on his ankles. They carried him over to the warehouse door, which Near hastily unlocked.

The man was still banging on the door, his threats and cajoling for someone to let him in becoming louder and angrier.

Lana idly wondered if she was about to be killed as she closed the door on Near and Ryuuzaki.

Fear was icing her veins as her heart pumped the natural poison throughout her body. But she didn't let it overcome her.

She took a deep breath, holding her head high as she sauntered confidently over to the middle of the room. She sank down to her knees slowly, willing her face to express the fear that she knew her body felt, if only to make it more believable to the man at the door that she was a hapless victim. It wasn't difficult to do so; she just barely managed to keep herself from shaking due to the effect of her body's adrenaline-fueled fight-or-flight response.

She didn't want to fight—not when she was sure that the person on the other side of the door had a weapon.

But she couldn't run.

She had two people on the other side of the warehouse door, both of whom needed her to protect them (but only one of whom she may just end up killing herself).

With a resounding smash, the heavy door flew open, banging against the wall and causing a spidery crack to form in the plaster.

Lana saw the man's unusual appearance before anything else.

She could hardly believe what she was seeing. He was tall and muscled, his biceps made visible by his sleeveless, zipped-up leather top and accentuated even further by his tight leather pants. He was blonde, with chin-length hair and bangs framing a feminine face contorted by fury. He was also sporting a rosary with a silver cross, which hung gracefully around his neck.

Lana would have laughed at the irony of _that_ outfit—if she weren't in the position that she was.

Because she immediately knew that she was in very real danger from this man, whoever he was.

Once again, a gun was being pointed at her head.

* * *

**So, for the purpose of this story I made Mello's gun a shotgun. I don't know why, I just thought it fit him better and that it would go well with the story. For some reason, I thoroughly enjoy the image of a pissed-off Mello blasting people's heads off with a shotgun. **

**Furthermore, I am not a doctor, so all of the medical knowledge and whatnot that I put in here was just off the top of my head. **

**Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	11. Stripes

**Author's Note: Hello again! I enjoyed writing this chapter, mainly because I got to have Lana interact with Mello and Near. I do love them so. In light of this, I have decided to celebrate by making this an extra-long chapter. Because I can do that.**

**To WildfireDreams: Aren't cliffhangers the best? I hate when other authors pull them, but for some reason I cackle evilly when I do it.  
**

**To Guest: Thank you for your lovely comments! I'm sorry if this took too long in getting to you, but hopefully the length will make up for it. **

**Warnings: Profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Stripes  
**

Lana was getting sick of this.

Literally, in fact: she felt as though she were going to throw up as the man made of leather pointed a large, double-barrel shotgun between her eyes. One of his black, steel-toed combat boots was pointing directly at her, an ominous warning that her face would soon be under it if she tried anything funny.

There was complete silence as he stared at her. His hands twitched slightly, and Lana closed her eyes, preparing herself for the sound of a bullet—the last thing she would ever hear.

But it never came.

Instead, the man of leather barked out an order. "Get up."

She opened her eyes hesitantly, expecting to see a boot in her face at any moment. To her great relief, that was not the case. He was still standing there; he hadn't moved an inch.

_He wants me to stand? Why?_ Shakily, she got to her feet, trying not to betray the miniscule twitching of her limbs to her captor. She wanted to make this believable.

"Slide that bag over to me," he commanded, gesturing to her rucksack.

_Shit._ Near still had more supplies, but still—everything she and Ryuuzaki had was in that bag. Yet she knew she had no choice. With a heavy heart, she kicked the old brown bag over to him, her eye not leaving his face. To keep up her poor-lonely-scared woman act, she allowed a pleading look to wash over her face.

"Please," she said as he bent down to rifle through the bag while still keeping his weapon trained on her. "That's all I have. You can take half of it, but please don't leave me here to starve!"

After looking through the bag and putting the edibles aside, he looked back up at her. "You're lying."

She heard her own subtle intake of breath. "What?"

"This isn't all you have. Why would you take all of your food on a scouting mission? I saw your prints outside. And speaking of all you have…where are the others?"

She clenched her teeth. "There's no one else here. It's just me—please, you have to believe me!"

Despite what Lana thought was a stellar performance, the look in his eyes told her quite clearly that he didn't believe a word of what she was saying. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? I saw your footprints, and all the blood. And no one's dumb enough to actually take all of their supplies with them when they go out. Now, if you don't tell me where you're keeping them, I'll blow your head off. Got it?"

Lana took a deep breath to calm herself down, then spoke the words that she feared may be her last. "I'm telling the truth. It's just me here. That blood was from an injured man that I found on the side of the road. He…he died. I buried his body behind this building. And that really _is_ all the food I have. Please don't take it from me…" She closed her eyes, hoping that her lies would be enough to convince him to just take the bag and go.

From behind her closed eyelids, the woman counted the passage of time, wondering if and when she would be shot. When nothing happened, she decided to open her eyes again.

"Are you an idiot?"

The man of leather was staring at her with so much rage in the depths of his blue eyes that a spark of fear ignited within her. He looked as though he were barely restraining himself from shooting her. But why would he stop himself?

"That's it!" he boomed, switching his gun's trajectory almost too fast for her to see. He pointed it at the door that Near and Ryuuzaki were hiding behind, and Lana couldn't stop a reflexive "No!" from finding its way out of her throat.

"What's behind this door that's so important?"

She didn't answer, mainly because she was mentally slapping herself for being so obvious.

"It seems like you care about this door a lot." He switched his gaze to the locked door, raising his voice. "If anyone's in there, you have exactly ten seconds to come out before I start firing. I might even hit the girl."

_That son of a bitch!_ "You don't need to do this—"

"Shut up. Ten…"

_Dammit! What am I going to do? He knows someone's in there!_

"Nine…eight…"

"You're only going to destroy the room! Killing me won't get you anything!"

"Seven…six…"

"Damn you, _listen_ to me!"

"Five…four…"

Lana couldn't tell for the life of her if he was bluffing or not, but she didn't want to find out. "Stop!"

"Three…two…o—"

"Okay, we'll come out," a calm voice muttered from the other side of the door. His voice was muffled, but it was definitely Near. With an eerie creak, the young boy opened the door and stepped out, his hands coming up to rest beside his head. The man of leather, to Lana's shock, even seemed surprised by the boy's appearance, but he quickly shook off the expression.

"Who else is in there?" he questioned. "You don't look like you're injured, and I don't believe that girl's story for a second."

_Who the hell's he calling a 'girl?'_

"Just an unconscious man," Near responded evenly.

With an annoyed growl, the intruder shoved past Near, keeping the gun trained on his two targets. Near backed up until he stood behind Lana. After taking a quick glance at Ryuuzaki's body, the blonde returned his attention to the two of them.

"Don't hurt him," Lana said forcefully, imploring the man of leather to leave Ryuuzaki alone.

"As long as he doesn't wake up and interfere, it'll be fine." He let the door close with an audible click as he turned back around to face his captives. "Now I'll ask you again: Where are the rest of your supplies?"

"I already told you we don't have any more!"

"And I already told you that I would shoot you guys if you didn't cooperate. So what's it going to be?"

"No you won't," Near said quietly.

Lana nearly socked the young boy in the head. _Is he serious? This is no time to be getting smart! _

"What did you say?" the man of leather snarled.

"I implied that you were bluffing. I can see it in your eyes. If you were really going to kill one of us you would've done it already. There's no benefit in keeping a child alive, is there? And if you wanted to, you could simply shoot her in the leg."

"Shut up, you little shit!"

"Near, what are you doing?" the scarred woman whispered furiously. "This is no time to be fucking around!"

"I am not. I am simply stating a fact. This man will not kill us."

"You think I won't? You want to try your luck?"

"Go ahead, then. Shoot me."

There was a large, ominous silence—the tensest moment Lana had ever experienced.

Unfortunately, Near broke it once again. "I could tell as soon as you started talking. It is very plain to me that you do not wish to kill us. You could have simply shot this woman in the foot to get her to tell you, but you didn't hurt her at all. Why?"

"I think that's a sign of bad faith—not hurting people at first tends to make them react more favorably. Force comes later."

"So why threaten to shoot me? Did you not think that that would have made her angry? Anyone else probably would have fallen for it, but not me."

The man of leather was glaring at the boy with so much malice that she was half-expecting him to turn to dust. So Lana was fairly surprised when he let out a short bark of a laugh. "So you're a genius, huh? Give me a break. I don't have time for this shit. I'll ask you one more time." The gun shifted slightly, rising until he had a clear shot at Near's forehead. Lana saw his hands move, heard the tell-tale clicking sound.

And just before he was about to pull the trigger, she moved.

"Stop!"

Everything paused as the woman found herself staring down the muzzle of a gun, her body and limbs thrown in front of the white-haired boy protectively.

_Not another death. I don't think I can bear to see another kid die._

It might have been irrational, but Lana was prone to such things. In any case, perhaps her action hadn't been in vain. She was staring up into the eyes of the man of leather, and she thought she saw a brief flicker of something familiar. It was subtle, and she was sure that no one else would have seen it save for a trained eye or a kindred spirit.

Her posture instantly relaxed (though she didn't step away), and when she spoke, it was with a calm, soothing tone.

"Aren't you going to do it?" She looked right at him, into his eyes, and she saw his hand twitch. He didn't respond. "It's okay if you do. I put myself in this position, so I will keep protecting him." At this point, she sincerely believed she had said that because she knew he wouldn't do it. Her nerve wasn't perfect; jumping in front of Near had been an impulsive decision.

She swallowed the lump that was in her throat. "You understand, don't you? What it means to protect someone? That's why you're doing this, isn't it?"

His hand started to tremble in rage, and she thought he was going to yell again. However, he spoke calmly, but with a deadly seriousness. "What the hell do you know? Why are you trying to read into my actions?"

"I couldn't tell before, when you were threatening me. But that look you gave me just now…you saw someone else, didn't you? Instead of Near—"

"Just shut up."

Lana smiled crookedly, though on the inside she was already regretting her next words. "We'll give you half of all of our food, no questions asked. No resistance. Just leave us some, yeah? I have people here that I refuse to let die." She watched, holding her breath, as the man seemed to contemplate her offer.

After a few tense moments of silence, the man of leather spoke again. "Why are you doing this? Do you really think you're in a position to bargain? Or are you even more of an idiot than I thought?"

She smirked kindly, though she felt a fair amount of annoyance as well. "Nothing. Just take it and go back to whoever it is you're protecting."

The man narrowed his blue eyes. "Show me where the food is." He didn't put the gun away, or show any signs that he believed Lana's words. He was still casting suspicious glances all around him as the woman led him towards the large warehouse.

"It's in here," she told him, opening the large door with Near's key. Ryuuzaki was still unconscious, and Lana immediately knelt by his side. It looked as though the bleeding had stopped: the strips of her old wife beater were now crusted with dried blood, rather than moist. She opted to change the bandages, grabbing a nearby scarf she had spotted and replacing the t-shirt with it.

The man of leather had started rummaging around in the food boxes as soon as he came in. They had both been sitting in complete silence for at least five minutes when she abruptly heard the rustling noises cut off.

"That's going to get infected, you know. If you don't clean it properly that guy's definitely going to die," the man harshly warned her in a deep, intimidating voice. He leaned against the wall, the bag slung on his hip stuffed full of food cans and water bottles.

"I know." She returned her attention to the still-unconscious detective.

"I saw all the blood. What the fuck were you trying to do?"

"We were trying to…find someone. We got caught up by those infected people—one of them stabbed him in the leg."

The man's voice sounded paranoid. "You sure he's not infected too? You should dump him right now."

She shook her head. "I can't. I don't think they got close enough, anyway. I got stabbed by one of them a long time ago, and I turned out fine. I think it's only transferable if you get coughed on or get their blood on you."

There was another pause as he absorbed the information. "Who were you trying to find?"

Her brows furrowed_. Should I tell him? It's not like it matters, but…what would Ryuuzaki say? _Now that she thought about it, it seemed likely that he would refuse to tell him anything. Maybe she could simply ask him if he knew how to get to the radio station—there was nothing suspicious about that, was there? He might not even know that Stripes existed, if he didn't have access to a radio.

"Hey…" she began, uncertain how to phrase her question as innocently as possible. "Do you have any idea how to get to the closest radio station? I don't know what the building's called, but it should be somewhere between Riverwood and Gardenia Avenue."

She saw the man of leather shoot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. She thought she saw his body tense up as well, but that could have just been her imagination. "A radio station? What about it?" His voice was hard.

She swallowed. "I just remember driving by it sometimes before all of this…I thought it would be a good place for shelter, while we are trying to find the friend that we're looking for." That excuse sounded lame even to her own ears. Really—what plausible reason could she come up with for wanting to go find an abandoned (supposedly) radio station?

"You seem like you'd be better off here, if you ask me." His voice was definitely harsher, as though he were angry at her but was trying to hide it.

Why would he be mad? What had she said?

"I don't see why that should matter," Lana said quietly, confidently. "We have to keep moving if we're going to find our friend."

"Bullshit," he clipped suddenly, stepping forward intimidatingly. Lana backed up and whipped around to face him. He looked livid, his hand twitching towards his holstered gun. On instinct, she tensed in front of Ryuuzaki's body and called to Near to stay put outside.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused and on edge.

"I looked inside your bag. Who are you looking for, really?"

_What does that mean? He looked inside our bag? What does that have to do with anything? The only thing we have of value in there besides our food is…our radio._ "What do you mean?"

"I don't know why you're trying to find him, but you'd better tell me right now, or else."

Lana blinked, aghast at his astuteness. "So…you listen to him too? Stripes, I mean." No, wait, that didn't make any sense. Why would he be threatening her if he was just a listener? He shouldn't have any emotional attachment to him. Unless…

The pieces finally clicked into place. Lana inhaled. "No…it can't be. You're his associate?" _Click._ "Listen, you don't need to pull your gun on me! You're the person we've been looking for."

"Why? You still haven't given me a reason. As far as I'm concerned, you're hostile until proven not."

"I wish I could—dammit, Ryuuzaki, wake up!" He would explain this so much better; he would know what to say and what not to say about their situation. Unable to discern what she should have kept quiet and incapable of crafting a convincing lie, the scarred woman decided to simply tell the truth. All of it—starting from the beginning, at Waterfront.

* * *

He didn't say a word the entire time the woman was telling her story. However, his look of rage gradually dissipated into one of dawning comprehension and paranoia as she explained everything she had gone through in the past few days—with details that paralleled his own experiences. The timing of it all—when the fence had been destroyed, when the explosion had occurred—matched up with his own memories.

When she was finished, she stared at him with a breathless look, full of pleading. "It makes sense, doesn't it?" she implored hopefully. "Stripes hinted that he thought a person had caused the explosion and destroyed the fence—he was right. It was B the entire time."

Everything she had said—it was all on par with he and Matt's predictions. He grunted, not showing that he was beginning to believe her. "Are you sure?"

"The FBI agent told me he was loose here. She even showed me a picture. He looks like this guy." She gestured to the unconscious man at her feet, who was still sleeping soundly. "Apparently they knew each other. This B guy lost his marbles, became obsessed with him and started killing people."

"That explanation doesn't make any sense."

"I don't know the whole story between them—that's all I've heard. The gist of it, anyway. I'm sure there's more to it, but…"

The blonde stayed silent, brooding over this new development. _We were right?_ "So our prediction was correct, after all."

"Yeah, that's great. You were right that a crazed maniac is on the loose. Whoop-de-fucking-doo."

"Did I say it was great, you nosy bitch?"

"Don't call me a bitch, dickface. And here I thought you weren't a total asshole."

"Well, you were wrong. It seems you're a terrible judge of character."

"I won't argue with that." She bit her lip, then looked back at him with furrowed brows. "Well, where do we go from here?"

He stared at her, not believing for a moment just how slow she was. Or maybe he was just impatient? Nah, that wasn't it—she was just slow. "What do you mean?" He snorted derisively. "We get out of here."

"You mean…you'll take us? To Stripes?"

"What did I just say?"

She smiled, but still looked surprised and more than a little nervous. A frown quickly took the place of her grin. "But how? How did you get here?"

"By motorcycle. It's parked outside, on the street."

"With all of the crazies?"

"They're all dead. I shot them."

"Oh. Good…I guess."

He could tell that the fact that he had killed all of them didn't sit right with her, but he couldn't bother himself to yell at her or make fun of her for it. He just _hmphed _at her and zipped up the bag at his waist. "You should grab the rest of this stuff. I have another bag attached to my bike. We can store the rest of it."

"Okay."

Just as he was about to walk out, she called him back. "Excuse me?"

"What?" he spat irritably.

"I was just wondering…what's your name? I should be able to call you something, right?"

His name? He thought for a moment about telling her his real one, but in all honesty, he hated it. Matt hadn't even called him by that name since the first time they'd met. He didn't even really consider it to be his name anymore.

"Mello," he said simply, turning around to walk away.

She stopped him again—not with a question, but with a word. "Emerson," she replied.

And that was all.

_Emerson, huh? Weird name for a girl. It's probably her last name. _

He walked out of the room, coming face-to-face with the white-haired kid as he did so. "Listen, midget. Your sister says you guys are coming with me. So get your shit together, got it?"

The kid didn't reply. He merely stared at the blonde with blank black eyes, the gaping holes making Mello's skin itch with irritation. Was this kid deaf? He asked him so, and all he got in return was what could hardly be considered a shake of the head.

Mello was fuming. This kid had barely known him for an hour, and already he was looking down on him? There was no trace of fear or apprehension in his countenance; there was merely a clinical detachment, an analytical composure in the way he observed his surroundings. Did he think he was smarter than him?

_What a little prick._ He briefly considered leaving him behind, but dismissed that idea quickly on account of the fact that his sister would probably lose her shit. He didn't need a woman throwing a hissy fit on top of everything else. He sighed instead, shoving rudely past the white-haired boy and towards the door. He turned around at the last second, exclaiming, "And hurry your asses up. We don't have the luxury of time."

The kid nodded again.

He sauntered back to his bike, hopping the fence again and mentally decking himself. Wasn't this the worst idea he's ever had? Well, maybe not the worst, but definitely the most impulsive. Matt was forever telling him that he made decisions hastily—would he approve? He knocked himself on the skull with his knuckle, rethinking his decision.

Still, if there was a chance that he and Matt were correct in their hypothesis…then it meant Mello was that much closer to his goal.

Ever since the whole continent had dropped the ball, he had found himself detached—essentially purposeless. He had always studied so hard when he and Matt had lived in that shithole of a group home, hoping to do what he'd always wanted: to become a detective, a successor to the famous L.

And it had seemed as though it were paying off. He always emerged at the top of his class, with his best friend a close second (though the other boy didn't seem to mind. He seemed to prefer _not_ being in the spotlight, actually. He saw videogames as being a better use of his time).

When Mello was seventeen and about to graduate high school, all of the effort and blood, the sweat and time he had poured into his studies magically turned to shit. He could never attain his goal—he would never be like his idol.

Understandably, this realization had turned the ever-temperamental blonde into a bit of a grouch—not that he hadn't been enough of one already. Even worse was the fact that Mello seemed suited almost perfectly to the new way of living, if it could so be called. In fact, during his adolescence, the neurotic man had become proficient in many unsavory pastimes, among them the particulars of gun use and management as well as hand-to-hand combat. Most of the other kids at the home had been scared of him, save some of the more hostile alpha male types.

And then there was Matt. He hadn't given two shits about Mello, his past, or any of his frightening emotional tendencies. In contrast to the blonde's destructive tempest, Matt was calm and composed—nothing ever seemed to faze him.

So Mello highly doubted that he would be angry at the thought of having more company. He couldn't predict what the copper-haired man might say, however; hopefully nothing that would freak out the girl he'd found. Matt had a knack for turning off any female that came within a ten-mile radius of him and his Gameboy.

In building frustration—at what, he wasn't sure—Mello lightly kicked the side of his bike.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. What the hell did that bike do to deserve it?"

His head snapped to the side as Emerson and the little prick approached him, their hands full of edible goods. "I'm pissed off."

"I believe that's called 'displacement,'" the kid offered tonelessly, making Mello want to smack him upside the head.

"Stop it, Near. Let's not antagonize him, okay?" Emerson chastised softly. Surprisingly, the kid simply nodded.

_So he listens to his sister, but not some angry stranger with a gun? Whatever._ His brows unfurrowed as Emerson began walking towards him. He tried not to look at her face as she handed him the food she was carrying; he didn't want to be caught staring at her scar. Not because it was horribly ugly or anything—he just figured she wouldn't appreciate it.

"Here," she said as she unloaded her cargo onto him, her eyes flicking up to meet his own. "Pack this and I'll go get Ryuuzaki." She eyed him warily as she turned away. "You'd better still be here."

She returned after only a few minutes, but it was still too long for Mello. He and the kid had already finished packing all the food in the sack hitched on the side of his bike. Needless to say, the boy's personality didn't make for stimulating conversation.

Emerson came back lumbering, the unconscious man's form slowing her down quite a bit. Mello went over to take him off of her, but she stopped him, much to his surprise.

"Don't. I have to carry him. If you wanna help, take this rucksack."

There was a dirty bag hanging off of her other shoulder, and he slipped it off carefully. "It's a waste of time for you to be lugging him around. I'm stronger than you. Give him to me."

"No." She said it so firmly that Mello had no doubt that she was attempting to end the conversation.

"Stubborn bitch," he groused angrily as he walked back to the bike and slipped the strap of the bag over one of the handlebars.

Finally, she managed to drag the guy over to the vehicle; the blonde was already sitting on it, with the kid planted right in front of him, nearly squeezed up against the handles. It was the only place he would fit without the possibility of flying off.

"How're you going to hold onto him?" Mello questioned, nodding at the shaggy-haired man. He was for once more concerned and curious than pissed. It wasn't a cakewalk to fit four people on a motorcycle, much less a person who wasn't currently conscious.

"I'm good in tight spaces," the girl replied. "I'll make it work. Let's see here…"

Mello felt the bike sink a bit lower, and a heavy, limp body fell against his back. He was nearly knocked face-first into the bike's small windshield.

"What the hell?!"

"Just hold on! Let me fiddle with him, damn!"

He sensed her maneuvering Ryuuzaki's body around until a smooth chest was pressed against his back. That felt a bit better, though his personal space was at best ignored.

But then, she sat down, and he felt two arms entwine around his abdomen. He flinched in surprise at the sensation of her hands touching him, and he felt his face burn with anger and embarrassment.

It goes without saying that he was not happy with the seating arrangements. Being sandwiched between a man and a young boy while some random girl feels him up was _not_ how he had expected himself to end up today.

"Sorry," the aforementioned girl said. "Did I scare you or something?"

"Hmph. Just don't try anything."

"No problem, man. I'm not gonna get my brains splattered on the pavement today."

With a twist of the keys in the ignition, the group rumbled off down the street.

* * *

Dammit! He had followed L and the woman from a safe distance, making sure to stay out of sight of the sick people. It had been relatively easy—but the arrival of that man and the young boy complicated things.

The blonde's voice had sounded familiar, but at the time B hadn't been able to connect it to a face in his memory. Then it dawned on him.

It was that man! The one who had seen him by the gate! Was he following him? No, that couldn't be it. B would have sensed him if that were the case. Also, he would have come from the same direction as B. When the motorcyclist had arrived at the warehouse he had instead been coming from the opposite direction. The serial killer had made sure to take a confounding, winding route so as to not be tracked. Therefore, the man had simply happened upon the scene coincidentally, and had heard the infected people squabbling.

How lovely.

And now, his two targets were rapidly moving away from him, bickering pointlessly as they readied the bike to leave.

_Where could they be going, and why? Either that woman's very adept at making friends or she knows him. Or she's being kidnapped, though that seems highly unlikely given her composure._ He hoped fervently that it was the first. He had never liked damsels in distress. The prospect of having to save undeserving females had never appealed to him.

Yet whether or not she was being kidnapped was an irrelevant matter at this point, because the blonde was revving the bike.

As the motorcycle sped down the street, B finally came out of hiding from behind the thrift shop next to the alley. He needed to find her again—her and L. He wanted to ask her if she had enjoyed his gift, among other things.

And he wanted to kill L while she watched. Or vice versa—whichever opportunity presented itself first. To do that, he needed to follow that bike.

He set off down the road, choosing to follow them for however long he was able before resorting to other methods of tracking. He wanted to whistle, but barely held his tongue at the thought of attracting the attention of either the passengers up ahead or more crazy people. He wasn't scared of the latter—far from it—but he was not in the mood to be dealing with them right now. Instead, he fingered his suitcase, picturing with ironic cheerfulness the image of full vials of blood stashed neatly inside. He was still nowhere near finished.

He needed a break. _The two new acquaintances of hers seem healthy enough. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take a short reprieve and kill them instead. _

_Perhaps they'll even lead me to more. _

* * *

Lana had never ridden on a motorcycle before. A bicycle? Obviously, yes. A motorscooter, yes—but only for about fifteen seconds before she had face planted on the asphalt of the cracked street. (She had learned that day what gravel tasted like. Conclusively unpleasant.) Miraculously enough, she had come away with only a minor concussion and a few loosened teeth.

So she knew from experience that if she were to let go of Mello's midsection, she would likely crack her skull open on the old, badly paved road after kissing the bike's tires.

She was holding on for dear life as the helmeted man drove the bike at breakneck speed, the ends of his shaggy blonde hair tickling her in the face.

_At least he has a helmet. But what about Near?_ Lana could barely see over the shoulders of both Mello and Ryuuzaki, but the kid looked as though he were clutching the front of the bike as though it were a lifeline—which, in a way, it actually was.

It had been more than a few minutes by the time the bike finally, mercifully came to a stop. Mello pulled over to the side of the road, quickly removing the helmet and shaking out his hair like a dog.

"What are you, a male model?" Lana's voice shook only slightly; her whole body seemed to be shivering with adrenaline, and her face felt cold and bitten, as though she had been out in the snow.

_This is what it feels like to ride a bike? No wonder his helmet has a face cover. It feels like my face is covered in ice. _

"I'd shake out your hair if I were you, too," Mello snarled back menacingly. "The both of you look like you put too much hair gel in."

Lana got a good look at Near as they both dismounted. He was still impassive and uncaring, but his hair was comically windswept, plastered to the sides of his head as though it had been soaked in grease. Lana thought he rather looked like a cartoon character who had received some shocking news.

After she shook out her hair just as Mello had done, she ran her fingers through the boy's as well, ruffling it into its prior state of disarray. In response, he looked at the woman as though she smelled bad, though he did not say anything to stop her.

Ryuuzaki was still slumped over on the bike, and Lana huffed as she threw his arm across her shoulders once again. She had a harder time of it than usual—she was still tired and sore from the day's fiasco. Mello quickly grew aggravated at her struggle, and with an uncharismatic shove, he took the man from her.

"You're taking too long," he snapped, "Just go and carry the bags in, okay?"

Her mouth popped open, her blood boiling in indignation. "So I'm supposed to trust you with my friend's life?"

"I'm trusting you with my food. I figure this way we'll have incentive not to screw each other over."

_He has a point_, she admitted reluctantly. "Where do I carry the bags?"

Lana finally took the time to look around, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the building that they were parked next to. She had seen a radio station before, but this one was the biggest she had ever seen. It was three or four stories high, painted smooth and burgundy with trimmings of mustard yellow on the edges. She supposed it was once gold, but had faded with age and a lack of upkeep. The building was also cylindrical, lending the entire place an aura of relaxation, of _cool_. The only windows to be seen were on the upper floors, and were tinted dark anyhow. Nobody on the outside could see in—but whoever was on the inside could still see out. Around the very edges of the building and even overflowing into the parking lot, there were overgrown hedges and vines that seemed to be dragging themselves slowly. It was as if they were trying to reclaim the space they had lost to the building's construction.

Lana also took notice of the entrance to the underground parking garage situated to the left of the building, which was blocked off by an electric checkpoint.

"In there," Mello snapped again. "You blind or something? Just go through the double doors in front. I'll call up so he can let you in." The blonde slipped a walkie-talkie out of the bag attached to his bike, and turned it on as the scarred woman watched in interest.

"Hey," Mello spoke harshly just as he had to her, but it didn't feel as sincere. It was almost like he was forcing himself to be disagreeable. _Is that how he acts with everyone? _"I'm outside. I'll be up soon, after I go park my bike."

"_That's all good,"_ a smooth voice responded, immediately setting Lana's ears alight. She knew that voice—it was Stripes. It had to be.

Mello continued talking, and the woman listened hungrily, but still kept her distance from the blonde.

"_But I'm pretty sure you didn't have three people with you when you left. Are the cameras messing with me?"_

"Yes and no. I brought them with me. The girl will explain everything to you. I'm sending her and the kid up right now."

"_Hmm…okay, man. Send 'em up."_

"And just so you know, you have my permission to shoot them if they try anything. Especially the girl."

Lana resisted the urge to smack the blonde upside the head.

"_Aw, really? I wouldn't want to shoot a pretty girl in the head—"_

Mello hung up, and Lana pounced on him—figuratively, of course. "What about Ryuuzaki? What are you going to do with him?"

"I'll bring him up with me after I put my bike away. You're too slow when you carry him. You and the kid go on ahead of me. Just go through those big doors and wait."

"Hold on a damn minute. I'm having a hard time trusting you. You just told your friend to shoot me in the head—"

"_He_ said that, and I never told him to. I gave him clearance to do so if necessary. If I wanted to hurt you so badly, I would've just killed you two back at the warehouse. In fact, you're starting to make me wish I had." He growled dangerously, but Lana was not deterred.

"Be my guest! The gun's still on you. Why don't you use it?"

Near just watched as the pair stared each other down, both of them giving off the air of dangerous beasts.

Mello finally let out a _tch_ sound and looked away as he placed Ryuuzaki back on the bike. "Don't test my patience. Would you rather stay outside all night?"

Lana was hotheaded, but she wasn't stupid. "If you try anything, I'll wring your neck."

As she and Near set off towards the large cylinder, she saw Mello driving towards the parking garage, a very limp Ryuuzaki slouched over his shoulders. It wasn't entirely that she thought the blonde would hurt them—he had already failed to do so earlier. The issue was more about why he had allowed them to come back in the first place. Why was he invested in the case with B?

As they neared the double doors, Lana was genuinely surprised when they slid open on their own. _There's electricity here? How?_

The woman and child stood in an empty lobby, devoid of any clerks or employees, not that she had expected any. However, it was much tidier than she had imagined it, as though no one save for a maid had set foot in here for a long while. Mello probably drove everyone who came here away. _Or killed them_, her mind added.

"_Hey there,"_ a voice spoke from above her.

She swiveled her head all around, locking her gaze on a small camera that had been placed in the upper corner of a wall right above an old elevator. "Hey," she replied, once again recognizing the voice. "It's you, right? You're Stripes?"

"_Glad to know I've got fans. Really, that's pretty cool. I was never the sort of person who enjoyed the spotlight, but this new world's got everything mixed up. That's Mello's gig." _

"Yeah…"

She looked around the room, searching absentmindedly for a way out—or, at least, a way upstairs. "Are you going to let us in?"

"_Well, technically you're already in, but you mean 'up,' right?" _

She didn't roll her eyes. Really. "Yeah."

"_Well, if Mello trusts you, I guess I have no reason not to. Just don't try to attack me or anything. Like I said before, I would hate to shoot a pretty girl. What are you called?"_

The woman thought it was strange how he had said "called" rather than simply asking what her name was. It was a subtle turn of phrase, but she noticed it all the same. "I'm Emerson, and this is Near."

There was a short pause. _"Look to your left."_

Lana heard a click from a door on the wall opposite the elevator. She went over and tried the knob, finding it unlocked.

Inside was the brightest off-white she had ever seen, the hideous color painted on every inch of the exposed staircase. _So he electronically unlocks the doors, but he can't make the elevator work? Oh, well_. She needed the exercise, anyway.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, to the point where she began to neurotically count every tenth step in a rhythmic, relaxing pattern. She stopped at each level, trying to open every door she came across; they were all locked.

After a decade of climbing, the two happened upon a door that wasn't. She and the boy stepped into a hallway lined with a ratty beige carpet, an assortment of doors peppering the walls on either side.

"_Over here."_ The same low voice, free of static, came from the second door to her right. She hesitantly approached it, automatically placing an arm in front of Near, silently telling him to be cautious. She turned the knob slowly, the suspense building in her as she pushed the door open with the drawn-out squeak of rusty hinges.

The room was unexpectedly dark, but Lana could decipher the bulky shelves in front of her, the silhouette of an old couch, the clear glass pane that separated them from what was obviously the room where the radio host went on the air.

Everything was quiet, and a pungent smell hung on the air. Lana sniffed, then wrinkled her nose, recognizing it as the lurid stench of cigarettes. It smelled fresh, but she couldn't see anyone in her line of vision.

Was no one in here? Was he hiding?

A quiet shuffle by her side caused the woman to turn to her right, and she immediately stood taut as a bowstring.

Though it was dark, the faint light provided by a burning cigarette allowed her to make out a person's profile.

He sat cross-legged on an office chair, revealing the fading spots on his worn-out jeans. He wore a long-sleeved shirt decorated with alternating stripes, and she couldn't help but think that the pattern suited him. The rest of his get-up was…strange. A pair of orange-tinted goggles were wrapped around his head, obscuring his eyes but leaving most of his shaggy coppery-brown hair untouched. Finally, a pair of headphones hung around his neck, present but unused for the moment. Lana idly thought that he had probably just gotten off the air.

He appeared to take notice of her staring, for he turned his head slightly in her direction. The shadow of a smirk ghosted across his lips as he took another long drag.

"Howdy," he said cheerfully.

* * *

**I am self-conscious about this chapter for some reason. Was the pacing okay? Do you think I should have split it up? I considered doing that, but then I thought that that would be needlessly cruel. **

**So, how was it? Make sure to review, though that part isn't mandatory. **

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	12. A New Perspective

** Author's Note: Long time no see! Not really, though. It took me less time to write this chapter. I could have gone on longer, I guess, but I didn't feel the need and thought that it would have been redundant anyway. **

** To WildfireDreams: Thank you for the compliments! I know, I feel bad that I hurt L, but it had to be done for the sake of the story. And yes, you were right! **

** To version15: There will be more interaction between them when L's conscious. For now it's Matt's turn. I hope you like it, though!**

** To exogenesis Fm7: Your speechlessness says all. :) Here's the update that you've been waiting for. Thank you!**

** Warnings: Profanity, blood. **

* * *

**Chapter 12: A New Perspective**

He lost them.

It was almost too perfect, the way fate had seemed to swoop in and steal his targets right out of his grasp.

_And now they are gone_, he thought with a subtle hint of disappointment. He had been so sure that he had finally cornered them; there was no way he could have foreseen the blonde's arrival, or the young boy's influence. When B had seen the herd of infected begin to lumber after them, he had initially planned to follow and lure them away, thereby simultaneously saving and trapping the unfortunate pair. He had planned on then killing L and finally taking the woman.

What a shame the boy had saved them himself. Granted, it had probably been an oversight on his part not to consider the presence of somebody in that old warehouse, given how spacious and accommodating it was.

And now the group had driven away, out of sight of even B's analytical eyes. _Where could the blonde be taking them? The audacity of those two, interfering with my plan. Don't they know it's rude to take something that's not yours?_

B shuffled his feet, swinging his bag slightly in renewed boredom.

_Well, at least I have extra time to gain some more samples. I will find them. I will find you too, Miss. _

But for now, he was going to bide his time.

Before he did anything else, he wandered back over to the pile of dead bodies the blonde had left behind. He stooped down and began to gather samples from the puddles of blood. He filled three vials to the brim, satisfied that someone else had done the work for him.

It made his job just the smallest bit easier.

* * *

Lana's first impression of the boy was that he was southern. After all, who says "howdy" aside from cowboys and ranchers from backwater towns? (That notion may have been outdated and stereotypical, but she had never claimed to be a saint.)

Her second impression was that he was most certainly _not_ southern, even though he _was_ strange.

Exceptionally so.

"Howdy," he repeated jovially, giving the dumbstruck woman before him a playful wave.

"Um…" she stuttered, "Hello." She finally replied, tentatively offering her hand for him to shake.

He did not return her gesture. Instead, he reached out and slapped it with his own palm, but otherwise stayed rooted to his computer chair.

Oblivious to the woman's disbelieving stare, the guy returned his attention to both his cigarette and the small rectangular contraption that sat on the desk in front of him. From the dim light and noises it was giving off as he pressed the buttons, Lana recognized it to be an old-fashioned Gameboy. A pile of batteries sat next to it, further fueling her disbelief that she was not somehow dreaming.

Was this guy for real? Didn't he think that there was a better use for batteries than as a power source for his toy?

She was about to say so, but was cut off by his uncaring voice.

"Sorry, what are you called again?" he asked her good-naturedly, not taking his eyes off the game.

"Emerson."

"Good name. Mine's Matt. Better known as Stripes, your friendly neighborhood radio host for the end of the world."

"The end of the world? PHD's only on the continent."

"So says you?"

"So says the man who has a wireless communicator connected to the outside world."

At that last dismissive statement, the guy's ears seemed to perk up. He turned to her, for the present forgetting about his Gameboy. Lana heard the tinny sounds of the "Game Over" music from the speakers, but he ignored them.

"Really?" he asked, doubt evident in his tone. "Who are you talking about?"

"The guy I'm traveling with. He's a detective and an associate of the FBI. He and I are looking for the serial killer who destroyed the fence and blew up Waterfront." _And killed Itzel._

Matt's eyes widened through the goggles, though Lana had to strain her eye in order to make out the refined movement. "Serial killer?" he questioned, eyebrows raised. "That's troublesome."

"You could say that."

"Are you sure about that? You don't look old enough to be doing that kinda thing. Hold on a sec."

He swiveled the chair in her direction, and pulled his goggles up to rest above his brow.

As soon as he looked at her, he stared, frozen as though he were a fish caught in a net. Bright green eyes blinked once, twice, then three times, before hastily flicking to the area just below her throat. A small blush bloomed over the tops of his cheeks.

Lana crossed her arms over her chest. _He had been about to say something, hadn't he? Why won't he spit it out? Is it because of my scar?_ "Come on. Out with it. What were you about to say just now?"

He swallowed. "Yeah. Did you and your partner actually engage the killer?"

She sighed, uncrossing her arms and loosening her posture. "No. But we have reason to believe that he was targeting us."

"Targeting you? Well, that makes sense. I'd want to go after the people who were trying to catch me, too, if I were a psychopath. If he's following you guys, it's a good thing. Mello found you before he did. He always takes winding routes to shake off anyone that tries to follow him. Plus, this place is really secure, thanks to yours truly."

"A bit cocky, aren't you?"

"Nope, not really. I'm just that good. Technology was always my thing. Cameras, wireless routers, electronic manipulation of the basic security systems and back-up energy generator that's installed in this place—I've been keeping this station running by myself for a long time. Well, actually, Mello is basically the breadwinner. I guess you could say I'm a stay-at-home wife." He smirked flirtatiously at her. "But that's just details. I can show you how all the equipment and stuff works, if you want."

"Maybe some other time," she said, her eyes shifting distractedly to the door she had just walked through. Where were Mello and Ryuuzaki? She didn't like being kept waiting, especially for a rude blonde who had her unconscious companion at his mercy—even if she _did_ happen to have a mildly entertaining geek boy to distract her in the meantime.

"Hey, kid, what's up with you? Are you okay?"

At the sound of Matt's voice, Lana's attention was drawn to Near, who had already set his bags down next to the sofa and was now sitting on the floor in his familiar relaxed pose. "Yes," he responded flatly. "I'm fine. I'm just waiting now."

"Okay…"

It wasn't hard for Lana to tell that the guy was more clueless than Mello regarding the finesse of dealing with kids, especially ones with…interesting personalities. She wanted to inform him of Near's unique mannerisms, but found the opportunity escaping her as Matt proceeded to attempt to hold a conversation with him.

_Good luck with that_, she thought with a snide smirk. She had barely gotten a dry phrase for her questions.

"Do you want anything to do?" Matt asked, uncertainty lacing his calm voice. "You can play my Gameboy if you want." To Lana's ears, the offer sounded insincere and as distasteful to the brunette as swimming naked with a piranha.

"No thank you," Near easily rejected.

"Are you sure? You can play it while your sister and I talk."

Lana decided to interject at that moment, hoping for a distraction. "Um, we're not actually related."

Matt looked at her, concern etched all over his face. "What do you mean? Who's the kid, then?"

"I found him—or, I guess it's more accurate to say that he found us. He saved Ryuuzaki and I from the crazies when we got cornered."

"He saved you? Really?"

"I let them through the warehouse gate." Near finished Lana's story for her.

"Huh. So he's your savior, is he?" Matt joked, earning himself what Lana hoped was a gut-wrenching glare. "No need to look like you want to skin me alive. I was just kidding. Now come on," he said, gesturing with an arm to the ratty couch that sat across from his desk. "Sit down. Tell me about yourself."

* * *

Mello wanted to hit someone.

Well, he usually felt that way, but this time he had a legitimate reason.

_Why won't this guy's limbs stop moving?! Of all the people, I get stuck carrying the one with freakishly long arms and legs. _

Ryuuzaki was much taller than the blonde, and as a consequence, Mello was having a difficult time carrying him. He had a better time of it than Emerson would have, though. At least he was able to fit the man on his back, allowing him to give him what amounted to a piggy-back ride up five flights of stairs.

That was the part he did_ not _appreciate.

He was only on the third flight when he heard something clatter down the steps. It pattered lightly on the linoleum, the sound of its descent echoing throughout the staircase. Grunting, Mello set his charge down before he went to investigate.

At the bottom of the stairs were two small plastic contraptions, both of which had fallen off of his cargo's person. Upon closer examination, Mello realized that they were, respectively, a speaker and a microphone. He flicked the switches; the speaker gave off a short crackling noise, then died. The microphone didn't even turn on when he fiddled with it.

_So they're dead, huh? Fuck. I bet Matt can figure them out. He's much more proficient in tech stuff than I am._ That was probably the only area of his intellectual capabilities where Mello was willing to admit that he was lacking.

He sighed in aggravation, shoved the two pieces into his pocket, and resumed lugging Ryuuzaki's body up the stairs.

* * *

"So you were actually an amateur MMA fighter?"

Matt's eyes nearly bugged out of his coppery head, and Lana could not withhold a laugh at his expense.

"Are you messing with me?" he accused.

She shook her head, nonplussed with his disbelief. "Why would I lie about that? I mean, yeah, I guess it makes me sound tough, but that doesn't do me a lot of good when people are coming at you with the intent to kill rather than just beating the shit out of you."

"I didn't mean to accuse you of lying or anything," Matt said with a sheepish lilt to his voice, "but I just didn't see that coming. I wouldn't expect it from someone like you. You're…"

Lana blinked, brows raised as if daring him to keep talking. "I'm what?"

"Y'know…cute."

"_Cute?"_ Her voice reached an octave previously unheard at that statement. "What the hell are you talking about? I look shady as fuck!"

Matt immediately put his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't trying to insult you! Believe me, if I saw you coming at me with that pissed-off look on your face, I'd run the other way. But you look different when you're talking and interacting with people, when you show your real self. You know?"

She did know. While the two adults had been talking earlier, she had also been watching the white-haired boy out of the corner of her eye. He, in turn, had been watching them. For a few moments, as he had observed them, his face had seemed to soften. He had even intervened in their conversation about Lana and Matt's old lives—it turned out that they had both worked at the same Vons at different times. (He had filled her old position after she had gotten fired.)

"I was only sixteen," Matt had said, "but I was the best employee there. They wanted to promote me after a few months to a different store. I refused to go, though. It was too far away from the home."

"Refusing more money just because you have to take another bus? What the hell's wrong with you?"

"She is correct. You are a bit stupid."

Both Lana and Matt had been surprised to hear Near's voice—especially Matt. He had steadfastly refused to acknowledge Near's assessment of the situation, claiming that his reasons were legitimate.

"I just don't like to go outside, y'know? Just going a few blocks to work as a cashier was a bit adventurous for me."

The three of them had continued to converse for a few more minutes until Lana had taken note of Near's apparent exhaustion. The boy had fallen asleep soon after, and Lana had situated him nicely on the sofa.

And now, she and Matt were more or less alone, avidly partaking in a discussion on the more uncivil aspects of the woman's old life.

"Yeah," she finally responded, thinking back on her treatment of Near. "I do." She hardened her features. "But don't you ever call me 'cute' again. I might just throw up."

Matt chuckled. "Okay, milady. Can I call you that?"

She rolled her eyes at the brunette's antics. "Do you always flirt so blatantly with girls? Or are you just making fun of me?"

He smirked back at her. "I promise I'm not making fun of you. It's just been a while since I've met a pretty girl."

She raised a questioning eyebrow. She idly wondered if he was blind—or if he was just attracted to people with facial scars. "You're weird, Matt. Not at all what I pictured Stripes to be like."

"Are you disappointed?" He still kept a smile, but Lana could see the tension behind his green orbs.

"Not necessarily. You're definitely nice. Much friendlier than that blonde asshat—sorry," she added, not wanting to anger him by insulting his friend (no matter how much of douchebag he may be). "And you're clearly smart. Maybe even as smart as Ryuuzaki—and believe me, that's a compliment. Intelligence is his most obvious trait aside from nosiness."

"Sounds like a fun guy."

"Try spending longer than three hours with him."

"I hope I get to find out soon. So…" He trailed off. "…do you two—"

Matt was rudely cut off by the dull sound of someone kicking the door.

"Matt!" Mello boomed from the other side. "Open up!"

_Does he get off on busting down doors or something?_

Matt opened the door at a leisurely pace, probably driving the blonde even further up the wall. As soon as the brunette cracked open the door, Mello burst in, nearly crushing his partner in his haste. Ryuuzaki's head was dangling on his shoulder, his arms hanging limply at his sides while Mello gripped the bends of his knees.

"Took you long enough," he griped at Matt.

"I opened the door." Matt's innocent, nonchalant tone was quite clearly passive-aggressive, and Lana thought that he was probably vexed at being interrupted.

"Whatever." Mello trudged over to the couch, and before Lana could stop him, deposited Ryuuzaki onto it.

The man's lanky legs landed on Near, and the boy instantly awoke, shooting up in bewilderment.

"Hey!" Lana protested hotly as she ran over, lifting the detective's legs so that Near could get up. "Be more careful, will you?" she hissed at Mello, who just looked at her as though she were a fly on the wall.

He huffed at her. "I just carried him all the way up here for you. You might try thanking me."

"_You're _the one who offered. Actually, scratch that—_forced_ is a better term."

"Do you ever stop bitching about anything?" he sneered back at her.

"Jeez, you guys hate each other's guts already? What happened?" Matt added, confusion evident on his goggled face.

Mello simply huffed at his partner's question, and went to claim the computer chair instead. Lana ended her part of the conversation in a similar manner before going over to crouch on the floor next to Ryuuzaki. She kneeled by his head, propping it up with a pillow. She straightened out his limbs, making sure not to twitch when she felt the faint trace of a spark where their skin met.

It hadn't been there before.

His legs received the same treatment—but she hesitated when she saw the bright blue hue of the scarf she had hastily replaced as a bandage.

"Matt?" she called out.

"Yeah, milady?"

She rolled her eyes again, hoping he would soon ditch that obnoxious nickname. "Do you have any soap or disinfectant?"

"Yeah. Mello picked some up a while back. I'll go get it."

It didn't take him long to return, and by that time Lana had already rolled up the fabric on Ryuuzaki's injured leg. She was thankful that she had grabbed a baggy pair of jeans; it saved her the embarrassment of once again having to remove his pants.

Matt placed a pair of rags, a box of bandages and gauze, and a bottle of disinfectant next to her, along with a canteen of water.

"Thanks," she said distractedly as she examined Ryuuzaki's wound. It didn't _look_ horrible—though the woman was pretty sure that the late-night episodes of _Strange and Disgusting Ailments_ she used to watch with her mother were not a reliable medical reference.

At least she knew the basics of first aid. She started with the area around the wound, wetting one of the rags and tipping the bottle of disinfectant onto it. She applied the rag to his wound, rubbing the area gently but firmly, making sure to wipe off every trace of excess blood and dirt.

Then she examined the wound itself. It was not very wide, but she knew that it was deeper than it appeared. The jagged scar was bright red and swollen, but there were no hints or leaks of pus—only dried blood. She tipped more disinfectant onto the rag, then paused; as an afterthought she took the bottle and poured some of it straight onto the wound. She ran the cloth softly over the puncture, until the skin was as clean as she could get it. The rest of the disinfectant couldn't be wasted; he would need it in order to clean the wound later.

As Lana scrubbed, she watched his face. It was not very expressive, as usual, but she found that this didn't bother her as much as it had before. His face was calm and serene, and she couldn't help staring in spite of the fact that both Matt and Mello were watching her.

It came to her as a surprise when she realized that she actually _wanted_ Ryuuzaki to open his eyes, to stare at her with those vast pools of gunmetal gray that had always seemed to be reading her—as though she were a book with too many pages. She wanted him to blink dumbly at her when she yelled at him or hit him for whatever insulting or inadvertently rude thing he had said or asked.

But most of all, she wanted to thank him for saving her at Waterfront.

Something had become abundantly clear to Lana when she had been trying to save him at Parkerville. She had been so angry at him—hated him, even—for dragging her out of the burning casino when she had been trying to save Itzel.

But what had she really understood about the sacrifice, the gamble he had made when he chose to save a person who he did not know? Who had actually punched him in the face earlier that same day? She knew that if she had been in his position, she would have left him behind. It would have been too much of a risk for her.

But when she had seen him get stabbed, something fundamental in their dynamic had been altered. Her prior perception of him had been at best reluctantly accepting, but as she had hobbled away from their pursuers, it had changed.

She could think of only one reason why. She had understood, if only for a brief time, the courage and dedication it took to put your life on the line for a stranger. Lana remembered with a grimace how terrified she had been, how she had instinctively desired nothing more than to just drop Ryuuzaki and save herself.

Yet she hadn't done it. The question was _why_.

Out of the blue, Ryuuzaki began to fidget under her hands. She quickly withdrew them, hoping that she hadn't unwittingly disrupted his much-needed rest. His body was no doubt exhausted from all of the obvious physical and mental stress. She wouldn't be surprised if he slept for another twelve hours—her own mother had slept for sixteen after Alfred was born.

That didn't look to be the case, however. He was writhing slightly, his head turning on the pillow while his hands clutched periodically at the fabric of the couch.

"Looks like he's waking up," Matt commented.

But the man's eyes stayed closed and his lips stayed silent—until a low groan emanated from his throat. Lana leaned closer, allowing their noses to almost touch. She looked concernedly at his closed eyelids, underneath which she was able to make out his orbs darting sporadically back and forth. He made another small groan, and the woman frowned. Was he in pain? Or simply dreaming? There was a small frown on his face, so she guessed it was the former.

Only to be proven dead wrong when he spoke. He mumbled an unheard word, his brows pinched together. She could not make it out.

She frowned. What was he trying to say?

He mumbled again, and Lana recognized the garbled sound as being the same.

Only this time, she heard it perfectly.

"Lana," he whispered, a pained edge to his usually passive voice.

Her eyes widened. Was he awake? She leaned towards him even further, placing one hand on his chest.

"Ryuuzaki?" she whispered, believing he was conscious but not wanting to disturb him. He seemed to relax slightly at her touch and the sound of her voice, but did not respond. She smirked. So he _was_ asleep.

Then, she stiffened as something occurred to her.

_Lana_. He had said "Lana," not Emerson.

She knew she had never told him her first name. How did he know it?

She blanched. Not only was he apparently dreaming about her, but he also knew her name. She couldn't think of a creepier circumstance.

Evidently the strange situation did not go unnoticed by the others, for the brunette also seemed confounded.

"Lana?" Matt repeated. "Who's Lana?"

The aforementioned woman sighed. Was there any harm in telling her name to the three other males? She had planned to keep going by her middle name, but fate clearly had other plans.

"Lana," she started confidently, "…is my first name."

Neither Mello nor Near seemed fazed by this, but Matt seemed interested. "Huh. Nice name. It fits you better." He paused, and his eyes lit up in amusement. "So he's dreaming about you?"

Lana flushed in both irritation and embarrassment. Oh, _hell_ no. Ryuuzaki was definitely going to get one hell of a talking to when he woke up—once he was decided as being perfectly fine, of course. She wanted to know _exactly_ how he knew her real name, and why he had strung her along when she used her middle one.

Nope, Lana Turk was _not_ a happy camper.

For now, though, she sat beside his body, watching, waiting, and wondering what he was dreaming about her.

* * *

He was floating in darkness.

It was a sea, a vast ocean of black darker than a starless sky. Nothing moved around him, if there were even a "him" to be moving around. He couldn't see his limbs, or feel the familiar presence of his own body. Breath never came, but his lungs never burned.

So he must have been dead.

No body, no breath, no sensation but for the bitter cold around him permeated his paralysis. It was so cold—freezing, in fact. The detective hardly ever went outside, so he didn't have much experience with weather.

He decided then that he much preferred warm weather to the cold. At least with warm weather he could feel his toes.

He tried to move, to command his body to let him escape wherever he was, but nothing happened. No response. He was suspended in a state of helplessness. None of his muscles obeyed his command, even his supposed eyelids.

Then, he felt something.

A touch.

His nerves crackled to life at the sensation of someone touching him. There was a hand on his thigh, and what felt like rough cloth was being run over his skin. He felt a dull throbbing, but the jolt of surprise at being touched in such a place carried away most of the pain.

He focused on the sensations. A fleeting brush on his upper arm, and a firm grip on his wrist caught his attention even more. He couldn't believe someone was touching him. This surprised him—no one had ever done that before, not in that way. He had been accidentally bumped into by people on occasion, but never on purpose.

It just hadn't happened. He hadn't sought it out or felt the need to. But somehow, these hands are, and they are familiar: calloused, but paradoxically smooth. They were reassuring, but also demanding and assertive. He rather liked them—but to whom did they belong?

Then, they were gone as soon as they had arrived, and he found himself alone once again. Hovering in the darkness with a hollow sensation. He thought he was alone for good now—until he felt a bloom of something where his nose should be.

A scent reached him. It was cloying and smothering, and settled over him like a blanket. It was a human's natural scent, not subdued by artificial perfumes or odorless deodorant. It smelled of sweat and dirt and cut grass, but it was not revolting in the least. L found himself actively trying to reach out for the person whose scent seemed to be penetrating the veil of death.

The person…he knew them.

_Who is it again?_ Multiple names came to his mind, but two stood out the most—one in particular. _Emerson. No—Lana._ He didn't care for the first one. The second name, though, he liked.

And finally, like a firework that had been ignited in his brain, events came rushing back to him. Being chased by the infected. Running. A knife. Blinding pain—blood. Lana trying to save him. She had tried to save _him_.

Where was she? He could smell her; he knew she was nearby. He tried to speak, his mouth barely able to form the word he knew he would get a response to, but his mind was muddled.

"Lana." The name came out garbled and incomprehensible.

He tried again. "Lana." That time, it was as clear as day.

Someone had heard him; there was a pressure where his chest should be, but not a bad one. A good pressure. He knew without seeing it that it was her. Her scent was stronger, and he felt warm air on his face. Her breath, smelling of a perfume both sweet and bitter.

"_Ryuuzaki?"_ he heard against his ear. It was her voice. He allowed his tense muscles to relax under her ministrations. He registered the sound of more people talking, catching only a few phrases and utterances of her name. Her presence stayed by him, not fading even as time passed; rather, it appeared to grow stronger, and more tangible as time went by.

Ever so slowly, warmth began to flow back into his veins, thawing his frozen limbs and skin. Light managed to seep past his eyelids, prying them open to the waking world. Consciousness and awareness of his own body came back to him in a rush, and he inhaled rapidly as air also returned to him.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was that he was very, very warm.

The second was that he was lying down, propped up on a soft, cushiony surface that had more than its fair share of lumps.

And the third was the hand on his chest, and the exhalations of breath that kept flowing over his face.

He opened his eyes.

Blue. It was the first color he saw. The cloudy blue of his companion's eye stood out starkly to him, more so than anything else—even the three males who were sitting in the background.

His gaze flicked from her eyes to them, who in turn stared back at him expectantly—all except the blonde, who simply sat with a stony glare.

He blinked. What was going on? "Where are we?" he asked calmly, returning his eyes to the woman hovering over him.

She sighed, seemingly relieved that he had spoken. "At the radio station. We found it, Ryuuzaki. Um…" She turned to stare pointedly at one of the men—a brunette with green eyes and a strange pair of orange goggles wrapped around his head. "I'd like to introduce you to Matt, better known as Stripes. The guy made of leather is Mello, and the kid's name is Near."

L stared at all of them for a moment, at first not believing that he was actually awake. He raised his eyebrows. "Emerson, what exactly happened while I was unconscious?"

"Uh…" she began hesitantly, "it's a long story. I'll fill you in later, but let's just say for now that we're among friends. How are you feeling?"

Her concerned and questioning stare threw him for a loop. Since when had she become so attentive and sensitive to his physical well-being? He would have figured that she would treat him in the same callous manner that she employed in every other situation.

"I feel okay," L admitted. "My leg wound is sore and I am somewhat light-headed, but other than that nothing seems to be wrong."

She inclined her head at him, but appeared otherwise satisfied with his answer. "Good," she clipped. Her eyes darkened, narrowing at him in what might have been the most rapid mood shift in history. "But if you ever tell me to abandon you again, I'll kill you myself. I've abandoned enough people to last me a lifetime, so don't fuck around like that anymore. Got it?"

"Of course," he submitted to her angry gaze, slightly amused by her threat. "But wouldn't killing me defeat the purpose of trying to save me?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do. Though it was not my intention to upset you."

A roll of the eyes was her response. "I _know_ that, dumbass. Just know now that you can't say stuff like that to me, okay?"

"Okay."

Her eyes softened once again (another mood shift), and she smirked down at him. "Ryuuzaki…"

"Hm?"

Then, before he even had a chance to protest, the woman leaned down and wrapped her arms around him.

The detective's eyes bugged out of his sockets in shock. Her embrace was unexpected and almost smothering, but undeniably warm as well. Her voice sounded next to his ear, blowing her breath across his lobe. He let out an involuntary shiver, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I'm glad you aren't dead," she whispered, a snarky smile in her voice.

He was befuddled by her emotionally honest statement, but his lips turned upwards slightly nonetheless. "Likewise. You have my thanks—you three as well," he added to the three males who were still sitting on the opposite side of the room.

Lana held the embrace for a few seconds before pulling away; he let her. Although her touch was not aversive or unpleasant in any way, he still felt strange touching her. A feeling he could not describe as anything but a stomachache kept gnawing at his insides the longer she stayed attached to him. He didn't like it—it was far too invasive. So he let her separate from him, allowing her limbs to disentangle themselves from around his neck. When she did, he ignored the hollow pit that formed in his stomach, passing it off as just another side effect of his physical stress.

It couldn't have been anything else.

* * *

Matt had always believed bonds were important—second, of course, only to videogames. His relationship to Mello was indicative of that belief, seeing as no one else had ever bothered to give the blonde the time of day after a first (failed) attempt at conversation.

Well, except for one other person—but that was a long time ago.

Personally, Matt thought the key was communication—an area of his life that he often found difficult to develop beyond the most superficial of conversations and the occasional didactic speech (as he had given Emerson—Lana—earlier). He mostly just talked about other people's problems. That's how Matt was. He didn't talk about his own life issues much.

That was why Mello had been such a good companion for him; the guy hardly ever talked except to either say what he was going to do or tell _other_ people what to do—and God help you if you tried to convince him otherwise.

Yet Matt had understood him even without the talking, because that was another thing about the brunette: a serious person he was not, but he was empathetic to a fault. The two of them had communicated largely through actions. Mello could tell him what to do all he wanted, but it didn't change the fact that the blonde constantly put himself in danger just to make sure they both had enough to eat.

He saw the same tendency in Lana. And he also saw the bond she shared with the man who had just woken up. The thought both saddened and uplifted him. (The first pretty girl he had met in how many years, and she was already attached to some other guy? Well, he didn't know if they had a romantic relationship; it hadn't seemed like it when she spoke of him, but she cared, at any rate.)

But even if they _did_ have a romantic attachment, he still found a small smile playing over his lips. Bonds were so rare these days; most people just didn't give a shit anymore. It was every man for himself.

But these two had something, even if neither of them could see it like Matt could—like he was sure Mello and Near could as well. He even felt an awkward sort of guilt for watching them, as though he were intruding on something precious and private.

He looked away, observing the other two people on either side of him. Mello was staring at the wall, his mouth set in a grim line and his face hardened with barely-concealed disgust. _Figures_.

The kid was still staring at the pair on the couch, his eyes dull but holding a single spark of curiosity. Matt grinned at that, turning back around to resume playing his Gameboy.

He'd let them have the moment as long as possible. They deserved that much, at least.

* * *

**And there you have it! I hope you enjoyed some of the fluff in this chapter. I worked hard on it (too hard, perhaps). I've finally brought all the Wammy boys in, and I hope everyone likes Matt. For some reason, when I sat down to write him, I drew an even worse blank than the one I initially had for L. I wonder why that is.**

**Well, don't forget to review!**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	13. In the Care of a Sadist

** Author's Note: I am dead. Not physically, but mentally. The reason is this chapter. I tried to include a good deal of dialogue and interaction, so I hope that it came across the way I wanted it to. That's the reason why it ended up taking so long. I'm sorry that it's short; I was going to put a scene with B in here, but then I decided to save that for later since it would work better in a future chapter. **

** To WildfireDreams: The situation will be cleared up in this chapter, though conflict and angst will still be in abundance. I hope it's worth it! **

** To version15: L is back, and I don't plan on having him be unconscious any time soon…though I guess we'll see, won't we? The light fluff was fun to write, and I look forward to more of it (as well as more biting sarcasm and L's usual, um, **_**witty**_** comments). I'm glad you like how their relationship is progressing!**

** To exogenesis Fm7: Thanks for the compliments to my fluff. I enjoyed writing it. On the other hand, I hope that it didn't seem **_**too **_**rushed for you. I really want to make them more comfortable with each other first. Yeah, I guess there's already a level of comfort there from saving each other, but I think I need to develop their personal relationship a bit more before the hardcore stuff. Don't worry, though; it'll get there.**

** Warnings: Mild use of language. Nothing else, really. I think this is the cleanest chapter so far. It's a miracle. **

* * *

**Chapter 13: In the Care of a Sadist**

There was a hole in his door. He had punched through it about a year ago, but now it looked wider, uglier; like a wolf's gaping maw, it had sharp teeth with pointy ridges. Matt had cut himself on it a hundred times already, but the guy who ran the group home said he didn't have enough money to bother fixing it. With all of the other more pressing issues with the building's foundation, it wasn't worth it.

Mello didn't mind; Matt's pained curses and halfhearted complaints were only annoying, not life-threatening. He'd deal with it.

The door was slightly ajar, the shadows of the hallway spilling in like a rich ink. From his horizontal position on one of the twin beds, Mello heard the soft pitter-patter of dainty footsteps fast approaching. One of the younger kids was probably running barefoot through the hallways; the blonde didn't think much of it, though he silently willed the brat to trip.

Soon enough, the steps faded away down the hall. The blonde closed his eyes, willing sleep to finally come. This time, however, the steps coming towards his room were heavier, slower, and more self-assured. A girl's voice was emanating from them.

"Eh! Rafael? Rafael, adonde fuiste? Tengo tus zapatos. Eh!" She stopped beside the cracked door, and before Mello could yell at her to go away, he heard a tentative knock on the door. "Hay alguien?"

She pushed it open, but Mello didn't move from his position. He closed his eyes, willing the girl to take the hint and leave. She didn't, but she seemed nervous, if her foot placement was any indication.

He sighed in aggravation, sitting up and turning to face the intruder with angry brows. She started as soon as she saw him, one sandaled foot already in the room. Her hand was on the doorknob, but it froze as soon as she locked gazes with him.

He took a few seconds to study her. She was clearly Hispanic; he didn't know Spanish, but he knew her accent well enough from walking the streets of Los Angeles for the fourteen years he'd been alive. He took note of her chestnut-brown skin and long, shiny dark hair. Her eyes were huge and dark, like bottomless pits, and her lips were large and plump. A pair of white sneakers dangled from her other hand. She was stunning; but at that point Mello was too angry at her intrusion to bother being captivated by her looks.

She stared at him, and her lips twitched nervously under his cold glare. "Hola," she said quietly. "Estoy buscando—"

"I don't speak Spanish," Mello rudely interrupted, turning his gaze away dismissively. He was embarrassed, but he didn't want to admit that.

She looked taken aback, but nodded. "Lo siento. Me llamo—uh…my name is Emilia." Her English was coated with a thick accent that almost made it difficult for Mello to understand, but he found he could make it out if he tried. The sound of her voice wasn't unpleasant, anyway.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment. Her brown eyes flicked to the side of the door that faced outwards. _She's searching for the room number and nameplate,_ Mello realized with contentment. _At least she has common sense. _

Emilia looked off into the distance as if recalling something. "Doce," she whispered. "Tu nombre…" Her voice rose to a conventional pitch, and she addressed the blonde again. "Your name…it is Mihael?" She looked back at him expectantly.

He gave a grimace at the sound of his given name. "Don't call me that. My name is Mello."

She looked confused. "Pero…the sign says it is Mihael."

"Well, it's not," he snapped. "Now are you just going to stand in the hallway outside all day? What do you want?"

She frowned at him, for the first time showing defiance. It was better on her, in Mello's opinion. "Mi…My brother is gone. He runs away. Do you see him?"

Although her English could use a bit more work, she came across quite normally. Mello had no problem understanding her. He nodded. "I think he ran down that hallway a few minutes ago." He made an appropriate gesture with his hands. "He went right."

"A la derecha?" Her eyes lit up, gratitude filling the chocolate depths. Her attempt at speaking English was forgotten in her excitement. "Gracias, Mello! Gracias."

Emilia darted down the hall, following after the boy's steps. "Rafael!"

Mello smirked as he heard the girl calling out for her brother. At least now he could get some sleep…

* * *

"Mello!"

The blonde was pulled out of his daydream by Matt's insistent voice. He growled low in his throat; after the two of them had opted to leave Lana and Ryuuzaki alone, Mello had gone straight to his room to get some sleep. Unfortunately, he had only gotten sucked into his thoughts as soon as he lied down on the lumpy old pile of blankets that served as his bed. More specifically, sucked back into his memories of the days spent at the group home.

"What is it?" he asked harshly. "I'm thinking."

"Well, whatever you're thinking about can't be good. Let's just say I saved someone's life by interrupting you, okay?"

"Whatever."

"Don't act like that, man. You seemed off when we left. Something happen while you were gone?"

He was about to tell the brunette off, but then, with a sensation akin to a rocket being set off inside his stomach, Mello remembered the two contraptions in his pocket. He fished around in his leather pants, plopping the two pieces of plastic carelessly on his makeshift bed.

"What are those?" Matt mused aloud, reaching over to pick one of them up. He scrutinized them for a moment, and then his eyes widened as it clicked to the young man. "A speaker and a mic? Where did you get these? Don't tell me you took them off that guy while you were carrying him."

"So what if I did? They fell out of his pocket. If they're going to be staying here, we have a right to know exactly what they do. I'll work with them, but I need to know that I can trust them first."

"Well, what about _them _trusting _us_? I don't think Emerson—Lana—would take kindly to you keeping this from them. She might try to kill you, man."

"Che. She wouldn't be able to lay a finger on me."

Matt looked like he wanted to say something, but wisely held his tongue; a small smirk played over his face, and the blonde could not help but feel that he was hiding something.

"Well, anyway," Matt began, "you should tell them. They're still up there. Better to clear the air now than later, right?"

* * *

L was uncomfortable. His leg hurt, his head was pounding, and his stomach was growling something fierce. To top it off, the white-haired boy was still in the room with him and Lana. Now that he had awoken, he found it fitting that his female companion told him what was going on; he didn't particularly want the boy to witness this conversation.

"Near," he said, "would you mind going into the other room for a moment?"

The boy stared at the much older man, his dark eyes calculating. He made no movement whatsoever in doing what L said, and instead shifted his eyes toward the woman beside him. She gave him a silent nod, and only then did he stand up soundlessly, venturing into the glass-paned recording studio. When L looked back at the dark-haired woman, he found her to be staring at him with a tight-lipped expression.

"I believe you should tell me what is going on," he demanded quietly.

She shot him a blank, frustrated look. "Hm…where to begin? Well, I guess the gist of it is that we were about to get torn apart by those sick people. You had already passed out, and we were cornered in front of the gate around Parkerville Warehouse…but then that kid—the one you just _threw out,_ by the way—let us in and saved our asses. Mello, the guy with a leather fetish, broke in and tried to rob us, but he didn't have it in him to kill us. Once I explained everything to him, he was less pissed off, and it turned out he was Stripes's associate."

L found his eyes growing larger and larger, though the woman in front of him probably didn't notice, and irritation flooded his system. "You told a stranger about the case?"

She was nearly seething in barely restrained anger. "Listen, it was the only way I could get him to listen to me. He wasn't buying any of my bullshit. This guy's smarter than he looks." She sat up, gaining some distance from the detective. Her posture became haughty and unrepentant, and L sighed lightly, not foreseeing any possibility of her apologizing for her actions in the near future.

"Perhaps you are merely terrible at lying," he suggested.

"So what if I am? If you weren't too busy getting stabbed and bleeding all over the place, it wouldn't have been necessary."

"I didn't purposely get stabbed, Emerson. Being attacked by a group of sick people was an unforeseen occurrence."

She jutted out her lip and huffed, crossing her arms. Her brows twitched in annoyance; L could tell that she knew he was right, but didn't want to admit it. "Whatever," she muttered. Then, her rigid face straightened and her mood seemed to shift, drawing in his curiosity. "There is something I wanted to talk to you about, though."

He cocked his head and raised a thin eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I wanted to say…_thankyouforsavingme_."

He heard her words, all right, but he almost couldn't believe them. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said _thank you._ For saving me. At Waterfront."

L was understandably confused by her admission, in light of her past declaration of hatred. "Is that so? I was under the impression that you disliked me."

"Don't take this the wrong way! You're still an arrogant know-it-all, but…I am grateful to you for saving me. I didn't understand at first, but now I think I know what you went through. You had no reason to save me, but you did anyway. So…thanks."

_But I did have a reason—I needed someone's help to find B_. A spark of something unpleasant shot through his veins, something discomforting and vaguely self-deprecating. Was it because of his reason for saving her? Because of the fact that she saw him as selfless when in truth, he was far from it?

But then he remembered one of the last things she had said to him before he lost consciousness: that if she left him behind, she would never get off of the continent.

The feeling disappeared, and L found himself strangely morose. It was no matter that they had saved each other's lives; there was still a fractured bridge between them, a barrier to their true intentions. That was how it had been with everyone who knew him even a lick better than the average person, so he was bewildered as to why he had expected anything to be different with Lana.

_This is irrelevant,_ he told himself stubbornly. He was feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the situation, though one would never be able to tell otherwise from his outward composure.

Finally, he found the words to respond. The familiar, meaningless words.

"You are welcome," he said; an afterthought occurred to him, one that he thought she would appreciate. "I suppose we are even now, then. We have both saved the other's life."

As he had expected, she chuckled—a truthful sound filled with ironic mirth. "I guess you're right." The ghost of a smile settled on her face, but her eyes told a different story. She was a mystery novel, holding back something vital from the reader. There was clearly something she wanted to say, but L didn't push her. She would most likely clam up instantly if he did.

But without his prodding, she opened up. "Ryuuzaki…I have some questions for you."

His posture straightened, and he drew himself up so as to be closer to her level. "Yes?"

She hesitated, but then a glint of resolve entered her dark eye. The blue one stayed stagnant. "How…I….what is L?"

Shock. That one emotion dominated his entire body at her words. Where had she heard his title? His identity was a closely kept secret. One that she, apparently, did not even know existed, for she had no idea what "L" even was—him. Had she never heard of him? Of the world-famous detective whose numerous exploits had landed countless criminals behind bars? In that case…should he simply tell the truth? That it was his title? It was true that there were hardly any people left in Los Angeles; his life was in no danger from assassins or killers (other than B, who already knew exactly who he was). He wasn't even supposed to take her back with him, anyway, so she wouldn't be able to tell the press any time soon.

Still, the question remained: How did she know?

"Where did you hear that?" he queried.

"I knew you were keeping something from me, but I didn't know it would be something as huge as having a way to contact the outside world. Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

_Watari's wireless communicator. That is it; it has to be. So she has seen it—and obviously heard it. How else could she have learned of L? _

Lana clearly took his lack of response as a deliberate disregard of her question, and reacted accordingly: her face became a deep shade of angry red. "Hey, listen to me, you ass."

"I am listening."

A vein protruded from her left temple. "So why didn't you tell me? And what is L? Is it a code or something?"

He placed the tip of his finger between his teeth, biting the nail in a gesture of focus. He didn't meet her eyes, keeping his own glued to her clenched fists. "No. L is my title as a detective. It is the identity I am known by."

He carefully scrutinized her reaction; her fists unclenched, but she now wore a look of confusion. "Your identity? So is Ryuuzaki your real name?"

"No. That is an alias, used expressly for this case."

Her eyes widened to the proportion of saucers. "So you're saying you've been lying about your name this entire time?"

He nodded.

She opened her mouth as if to berate him, then quickly closed it. He already knew what she had been about to say, but had then thought better of. She, too, hadn't been honest about her name. It was true that he did know it, but _she_ didn't know that he knew.

Then, as if reading his thoughts, she said something that shattered his train of thought and made his mind do a figurative double take.

"Well, you seem to know my name, so it's only fitting that you tell me yours, isn't it?"

He stopped his nail-biting to speak. "Hm. To what are you referring?" His demeanor was impeccable, but she still rolled her eyes as if to say that she wasn't falling for his act.

"Listen, L—if that's really what people call you—I heard you talking in your sleep not too long ago, right before you woke up. You said 'Lana.' Unless you were talking about some totally different person who also happens to have my name, then I'd say you have some explaining to do."

Apparently he hadn't been in as deep a sleep as he had thought. "Maybe I was."

"Was what?"

"Thinking of another person. Lana is a common name, after all."

"Bullshit!" she huffed with a sarcastic laugh. "That's too coincidental. Stop trying to make me doubt myself. I know what I heard. You seem to know all about me—you learned my brother's and Itzel's name from spying on me while I slept. Is that how you learned my name? Did I say it out loud or something? Not only that, but you kept it a secret this whole time. Why?"

He decided, quite wisely, that it would not endear him to her to reveal that he had asked Watari to analyze her citizen records.

So he lied. "Yes. I didn't want to disrespect you by calling you by a different name. Having to use an alias quite often myself, I understand the need to protect one's identity. It was not my intention to out you to those two men; I was merely confused and searching for you."

She groaned in aggravation, running her hands over her eyes. Her shoulders sagged with her release of breath. L perceived that she was unlikely to attempt to clobber him in the near future—she seemed to be calming down, or at least trying to.

"Well," she sighed, dropping her hands to reveal a tired face, "it's a moot point now, I guess. Matt and Mello both know my name, thanks to you. I guess I'm Lana now." She paused, then added, "Again." She looked down at him with a puzzled look. "So do I call you 'L' from now on?"

"No. I'm still handling this case, so continue to address me as Ryuuzaki." It would probably be easier for her if he allowed her to call him L, but he couldn't risk anyone else learning his identity. He had gotten lucky with Lana; if those two men had heard of L, there could be unnecessary problems. He had to keep a low profile, even here—especially here.

"Whatever. So, what's up with that communicator of yours? Can we use it to, I don't know, ask for help?" Her sardonic tone was painfully obvious this time.

"The concept," L relayed, "is that I will inform my associate on my status at regular intervals. I have not been in contact with him since falling unconscious, so I am sure he is disturbed." The detective reached into his shirt, expecting to find the lump of plastic and wiring he had clipped to the fabric.

As he did so, his heart skipped a beat. There was nothing there. He reached for his ear—once again, there was nothing to be found. He looked back up at Lana, who sat watching him expectantly. He reciprocated her expression with a raise of one of his dark brows.

"Where is it?" he asked quietly.

She appeared to be perplexed. "What do you mean?"

L was never in the mood for games such as these; now was no exception. "The communicator is missing."

Her jaw dropped in surprise. "You mean you don't have it?"

He continued to bite his lip, this time with more urgency. "Evidently not. I am assuming that you have it, since you have already admitted to finding it on me."

"Well, yeah—but I slipped the pieces back in your pocket before Mello found us. It should still be there, as far as I know."

As a formality, he checked the pockets of his jeans (which, he noted with a small hint of confusion, were of the same size but a different brand and style than the pair he last remembered wearing). As he had expected, the device was not in there either. He stared at the woman in front of him with empty hands and a slew of new problems.

On her end, she looked as though she had been kicked in the stomach. "Shit! It's gone? Are you fucking kidding me?" She seized a tan throw pillow that was lying by his feet, tossing it haphazardly at the glass wall behind her.

Meanwhile, L began to ponder; it must have been lost at some point during their travel. They would simply have to retrace their steps and hope that the device would be found unbroken, if at all.

At the very moment when L began to question whether or not Lana should be restrained for his own safety, in walked the two men from before—Matt and Mello, respectively. The detective noticed that the brunette, from the looks of it, was able to sense Lana's horrible mood upon entry. He swallowed; L wondered if he had something important to tell them. Scratch that—he _knew_ he did.

Finally, the man spoke. "Hey, guys, Mello's got something to tell you."

The angry man shot him a glance full of ire, but relented. He reached into the pocket of his leather pants and pulled something small out. To L's surprise, the pieces of the communicator that Watari had given him blinked lazily up at the detective from where they rested in the blonde's palm.

After barely three seconds of relieved silence, the woman blew up.

"You've got to be kidding. Seriously?!" She stood up swiftly, startling the two targets of her wrath. "You took it?"

Mello's eyes narrowed, and he shot her a _duh_ expression. "First of all, it fell out of his pocket when I was carrying him upstairs. To be honest, I was going to keep it from you two, but Matt pestered me until I finally agreed to give it back. I didn't know if I could trust you. I still don't, but I'm going to go out on a limb."

"That's a shit excuse," Lana fired back. "Trust goes both ways. At least your partner understands that."

"When you're the one bringing three strangers into your domain, then you can talk to me about trust. I have to look out for us."

L thought the woman would hiss at him; at that moment, she did look rather like a lioness, with her hackles raised and claws unsheathed. "Oh, yeah?" she spit. "Well, I have to look out for Ryuuzaki and Near, so where do you get off being condescending?"

While L silently agreed that she did have a valid point, he opted to butt in before his companion got out of hand and decided to hit the man—or vice versa. "Lana, please stand down."

She turned on him then, her eyes wild with anger and a minute amount of betrayal. "Why?"

"I am inclined to agree with you, but it is within our best interests to cooperate. This man has consented to let us stay here for the time being, and may prove to be an invaluable asset. We should try our hardest to exercise self-restraint and get along with minimal arguments." He watched her as she digested his words, her animosity gradually dissipating and becoming a benign irritation.

"Whatever."

The blonde seemed to share her sentiment, because he too stayed silent after L's speech. Both Matt and the detective released the breaths they had been holding in suspense, and the brunette took the pieces of Watari's communicator from his partner. He held them outstretched for both L and Lana to see.

"It's pretty busted," he admitted bluntly. "The earpiece has been partially crushed and the mic isn't doing much better. But…." Here his tone of voice became dubious. "…I think, if I have the right tools, I may be able to fix them. They won't be good as new, but I'll try my best. Are you two okay with that?" L took note of the fact that Matt's gaze was directed more towards Lana than him; the hint of a frown turned down the corner of his lip. He ignored it.

The woman made an affirmative noise while the detective beside her merely nodded his head.

"Great!" Matt gave a lopsided grin. "I'll go get started on it, then. There are some small screwdrivers and tools that I can use to open them up and take a look inside, but they're all hidden in the basement somewhere. Anyone want to come help look for them?"

"I shall accompany you," L offered; he was tired of lying on the couch. With some effort, he managed to sit up straight and get to his feet—only to have his leg crumple immediately under his weight. He fell back onto the cushions with wide eyes. What was wrong with him? His leg felt as though it had no muscle mass; surely it could not have atrophied within the span of time it had taken for them to arrive here?

Then it clicked in his mind.

"I see," he said aloud to no one in particular. "It appears as though the muscle in my leg has been damaged by the stab wound."

"Damaged?" Lana asked concernedly. "You mean you can't walk?"

"Not entirely," the man conceded. "It will just take me some time until I am once again able to move that leg properly, with its full strength. I must wait until the wound has healed enough to do anything even marginally dangerous. In the best case, the damage shouldn't be permanent."

"Good," his companion admitted, sounding less worried and more smug. "Then let this be a lesson for you not to get hurt anymore."

"As I have said before, the situation was both a chance encounter and an oversight on both of our parts—"

"Anyway," Lana cut him off as she began fumbling around in the first aid kit Matt had placed by the bedside. "Your wound won't heal if it isn't bandaged properly, so let me have another go at that leg. I'll come help you look for those tools in a few minutes, okay, Matt?"

The brunette nodded and chuckled as he watched the woman cut L off; he and Mello proceeded to leave the room for propriety's sake.

L held his tongue as the dark-haired woman wrapped a long strip of gauze around his bare thigh, merely forcing the frequent bouts of pain to the corner of his mind. It wasn't hard to do, what with the goosebump-inducing brushes of her skin against his and the pensive, serious look on her face. She looked much more focused than he had ever seen her, besides when she was fighting. It was both charming and a cause of stress; the latter feeling he could not explain as anything but an apprehension at her closeness, probably as a consequence of his most recent thoughts. The former just didn't make any sense.

His stomach was hurting again.

When she was finished wrapping his leg, she helped him to sit up, cradling his back with her arm as she pulled him upright. It felt strange; with his injury, he could not pull his knees up to his chin as he was so prone to doing. To do so would put stress on his wound and possibly even rip the bandages. Sitting normally was already reducing his ability to think, so he listened instead to what the woman beside him was saying.

"Well, it looks like you're going to be a cripple for the time being." Her voice contained a hint of dry humor.

"While I must disagree with the fact that you find this situation humorous, that looks to be the case. As of right now I am incapable of walking normally. I must start rehabilitation right away."

"Hold it!" She thrust her pointer finger into his chest. "You may be smarter than me—_may_ be—but you're injured, so you have no choice but to do what I say. That being said…you're right about the rehab thing. But let's get one thing straight…" She then jabbed a thumb into her own chest. "_I'm_ going to be the one looking after you. So get ready for the worst few weeks of your life, Ryuuzaki!" She grinned happily down at him from where she stood beside the couch; she had shot up during her speech.

His dark eyes gazed up at her in amusement—and the barest hint of apprehension. She had been a trained fighter; she must have picked up some grueling exercises and workouts from her experiences. Knowing her, she also had a few tricks up her sleeve.

"Hm. What are you going to have me do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know yet. All I can say is that there is at least one thing I'm thankful for."

She grinned evilly, her eyes bright with mischief. "I'm really glad this place has so many stairs."

* * *

**Translations (translated by me and three years of mediocre Spanish skills):**

Adonde fuiste?: Where did you go?

Tengo tus zapatos: I have your shoes

Hay alguien ahi?: Is there anyone there?

Hola: Hello, Hi

Estoy buscando: I am looking for

Lo siento: I'm sorry

Me llamo: My name is

Doce: Twelve

Tu nombre: Your name

Pero: But

Mi: My

A la derecha: To the right

Gracias: Thank you

**The Spanish used here was typed in a formatted document that is devoid of accent marks. Therefore, the words here have none of them. I know where they need to go, but I don't know how to put them there. I apologize to anyone if my Spanish is a bit rusty; I took three years of it, but it's been a while, so please go easy on me. I double-checked it in a dictionary, so hopefully everything is fine.**

**Also, I would like to say that I am probably going to be putting some more of Mello's flashbacks as well. They won't take up a lot of the story, I just thought it would be an interesting touch. Emilia is going to be the main focus of Mello's, just so you know. If you don't want to read it, you can skip it. I won't dwell on it too much (unless you guys like it). This is primarily an L/Lana fic, after all. **

**P.S. Poor Lana—first L frustrates her to no end, now she has to deal with Mello? Why do I love causing conflicts between characters? Don't answer that. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Vicious Ventriloquist**


	14. Ever the Honest One

** Author's Note: I do apologize for this taking so long, even though it hasn't really been that long, has it? Oh, well. I hope you like it anyway! Lots of angst and internal conflict in this one. **

** To WildfireDreams: Hopefully this one is awesome, too. That's what I was going for. :)**

** To exogenesis Fm7: Thank you! I was hoping that someone would like the Mello-Emilia thing and am happy that you won't skip it. There will be more of that in later chapters. :)**

** To garnet86: Thanks for the loads of compliments, haha! Figuring out the setting and how to bring the canon characters in was the hard part. I definitely want to continue to develop the L/Lana relationship for a little longer, so we'll see what happens. I already have an overall idea for the plot, though—I'm going to try to make it awesome. **

** To version15: No worries about being late! It really makes me ecstatic that you like this story that much (and also my OC, because I am trying to do her justice, haha). I'll try to keep writing to the same standards! Thanks a lot :)**

** Warnings: Mild profanity. Another astonishingly clean chapter. **

* * *

**Chapter 14: Ever the Honest One **

_ My mother bought poppy seeds at a farmer's market once—those places are ridiculously expensive, by the way. They sat for so long in the pot by the windowsill that I forgot about them; I didn't even consider the fact that they might bloom one day. I just kept watering the soil, and little by little small buds began to appear, breaking through the dirt and bursting into full color by the time spring came around again. The change was so gradual that I didn't even notice. And then, one day, the small, insignificant seeds that I had first thought were just a waste of time grew to be something not only worthwhile, but beautiful—and I don't throw that word around a lot. _

_ You see, it took me a while to learn that the most important things in our lives can start as something mundane or trivial, and then grow into something amazing that can make you feel happy again. So you shouldn't deny those things when they do pop up, like _he_ did all those years ago. Just like with those stupid poppies, I didn't really take notice of it until it was almost too late._

_ I don't really know when it happened. I was too far gone by the time I realized. Ha—look at me! Talking like I doomed myself when it was actually what saved me. You wouldn't think such a thing would happen under the circumstances. After all, I had long since given up any hope of finding happiness._

_ But I guess love is just sneaky like that._

* * *

"Near?"

Lana called for the white-haired boy, her hands clasped in front of her mouth to amplify the sound. Her voice reverberated down the hallway, sending inconspicuous vibrations through the station. "Near? Where are you?"

She sighed; she had been searching for the boy for ten solid minutes, sauntering from the room they were sharing to the broadcasting room next door. He hadn't been in either: all she had managed to find was Matt (who was currently on the air) and an impressive collection of dust motes and mothballs.

She swore on her life that neither Mello nor Matt ever cleaned this place.

On top of Near's disappearance, L—she couldn't think of him as Ryuuzaki anymore—was also missing. This was what bothered her the most—what if he tripped and fell? Then all of her hard work would be for nothing.

_Honestly_, she thought, _Near's probably helping him hide from me_. That was most likely her own fault, though. For the past three weeks, she had been nothing if not overbearing towards the detective. The first two weeks had consisted of her forcing the injured man to lift increasingly heavy objects with the use of his legs, just to build up his strength. Too much strain on his damaged muscles at that point would have only made it worse—but that didn't mean he couldn't exercise that part of his body.

And, exactly as Lana had expected, he hadn't liked being bossed around. He also hadn't taken very kindly to being relegated to a room down the hall with her. Every time she had gotten too close, he had tensed at her touch, but it had been necessary at some points when he had to sit up.

Thankfully, either Matt, Mello, or Near had been around for all of the times he needed help to go use the bathroom—which was really just a bucket that was kept stored outside the back porch of the station. She shuddered at that.

Anyway, he had been steadily improving in strength, and his wound was healing nicely—or, at least, it seemed so to Lana. He had appeared to be doing better, and so, about five days ago, she had allowed him to graduate to the dreaded stairs in order to regain his strength further. It had started out with half of a staircase, then an addition of two steps for each day, steadily increasing until he could get almost up one flight by himself.

Unfortunately, due to lack of exercise in that leg and weeks of no aerobic exercise, he was in pretty bad shape. Though she knew it was for a medical reason, Lana had yelled at him to go harder until she was nearly blue in the face, just as her old coach had done to her.

Maybe she had taken it a bit too far. The thought made her smile.

Clearly, however, he did not appreciate her treatment and had made that abundantly obvious. She had originally thought he was just being unreasonable—but now she was starting to turn that accusation around onto herself. Yes, perhaps she had been too harsh—in all honesty, she was probably just frustrated with him still. He had most likely sensed that and opted to avoid her because of it.

So now, here she was, searching for two of the people she had promised to help. Just as she approached the door that led to the staircase, someone else stepped out, nearly walking right into her. She gave the blonde a small nod, and Mello did the same.

Over the past few weeks, they had learned to begrudgingly get along. (While he was here, at least. Most of the time he was out scavenging on his bike.) They didn't talk much—her interactions with him were limited to when she helped him bring the goods and wares he had found upstairs and when they occasionally ran into each other around the station.

Every now and then, though, he would catch her eye as he passed by, and give her a look she couldn't quite place—especially when Near was with her. It was similar to the one he had given her when she had pounced in front of his gun at Parkerville—like he wasn't seeing her, but someone else. Right now, his gaze was the same.

Just as he made to brush past her, she grabbed his shoulder. Immediately, he tensed, stiffening up as he turned around to look at her in surprise.

"Hey, Mello," she began, trying to work some semblance of a smile onto her face. "Have you seen Near and Ryuuzaki?"

The touch blonde stared at her before nodding gruffly. "Yeah. They're a few flights down."

Her jaw dropped. "What? He's training without me? That dick…" She had suspected as much, but she still grumbled as she continued on into the staircase, sending a hurried _Thanks_ at Mello before leaving. She would be lying if she said that she wasn't just the slightest bit insulted by L's behavior, but the more rational part of her really couldn't blame him. She knew that she wasn't an overly kind teacher. She had accepted her gruff treatment of the others, with some exceptions for Near.

_Then why does L ignoring me make me feel…bad?_ She pondered this question as she descended and only stopped pondering it when she came upon the two objects of her ire. It was probably irrelevant, anyway.

Near was sitting at the top of the staircase she had just reached, his slouched form facing away from her as he watched the man who was currently climbing them. Lana opened her mouth, about to say something to the white-haired boy, when the dark-haired detective caught her eye instead.

He was climbing the stairs by himself. One of his pale hands rested on the handrail, while his legs worked one at a time to propel his body onwards. His head was facing downwards, his eyes locked on his own feet. The damaged leg was barely even shaking as it had been doing since the beginning. His movement up the stairs was slow, by normal standards, but his pace had increased greatly from what it had been a few weeks ago.

Little by little, he was making progress.

And that made a small smile bloom over Lana's lips.

So she just stood next to Near, not saying a word but knowing that he already knew she was there. He didn't say anything, either. After a few more minutes of painstaking effort, the pale man made it to the top of the stairs—and immediately met the young woman's eyes.

But Lana spoke before he could say a thing.

"It looks like you're doing a lot better," she complimented, crossing her arms over her chest smugly. "I wonder why that is?"

He sighed, leaning heavily on his good leg while his hand still rested on the rail. "Perhaps it is because I have been training my strength in my free time."

"What free time?" she asked, confused. She had been with him almost constantly for the past few weeks! What sort of free time did he have?

Near, ever the honest one, informed her. "He means that I've been helping him practice while you were sleeping."

Mismatched eyes widened in surprise. "What? Without me? Why?"

L looked as though he were about to say something, but she quickly interrupted him. "Nevermind!" she exclaimed, covering her ears. "I don't care. I don't really feel like having you tell me what a hardass I am. I already know that." She grinned cheekily at him. "I just came down here to see if you guys were hungry."

Near nodded at once and uncurled himself from his squatting position. L merely inclined his head with a simple "Yes," then a follow-up question about whether or not the twinkies were still present.

Lana laughed as she came around to his side, lifting one arm around her neck so as to support him. They had more than a few flights to go up, so she would have to help him. "Yeah," she answered his question, noticing the way his mouth twitched as soon as she hefted him up the first step. "You can eat all the sugary shit you want once we get upstairs, Ryuuzaki. I promise."

* * *

Matt's eyes flicked to the three of them before they had even fully entered the studio. Lana saw the way they brightened just a bit, as if glad to see them there. He was still inside the glass box, but from the looks of it, he had just gotten off the air. His headphones rested around his neck while the gentle thrums of a guitar were playing in the background off a vinyl record. As soon as he saw them come in, he was already at the door to greet them.

"Hey, guys," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Lana said as she sat L down on the sofa, then ventured over to the plastic bin she had stored all of the food in. Near followed her, grabbing the can opener Mello had found and a container of beets before plopping on the floor. "We're just getting some food," the dark-haired girl informed him.

Matt sighed, crossing his arms as he narrowly dodged the twinkies she tossed L's way. "And here I thought you came up here to see me. I'm disappointed."

Lana scoffed sarcastically. "You wish."

"Ouch."

She smiled as she turned away from him, grabbing another can at random. She sat down beside L and began to eat her corn.

After a few minutes of silence (and the repetitive sound of chewing) the four of them heard the music emanating from the studio cut off; the record had stopped playing.

"Crap," Matt griped, "I've got to put another one on." He made to get up, but Lana jumped up after him.

"Wait! Let me pick one," she suggested (more like told), her hand clasping the brunette's arm.

He blinked at her, and then a full grin broke out on his face. "Sure," he conceded. He let her into the studio, where he proceeded to show her the vast array of records in the station's collection. They lined every wall and filled every nook and cranny of the large shelves. There were even many of them that didn't fit anywhere else, and so were stacked in huge piles on the floor, the desk, the foot of Matt's computer chair, and beside the cushiony seat that sat against the wall behind them. Lana could barely even see the floor.

"Damn," she whistled, admiring the luxuriously well-stocked music room. "Have you been through all of these?"

"Nope," Matt admitted. "The ones I've played are all in that shelf"—he gestured to the one that was pressed up against the farthest wall—"and sometimes I play them more than once. There used to be another shelf in here, but we got rid of it for space. That's why there're so many on the floor."

At some point during Matt's speech, L had drifted into the room and was now standing awkwardly behind the other two. Out of the corner of her eye Lana watched as he sat down in the cushioned chair behind them.

She shook her head, trying to push herself back into her conversation with Matt. "Why don't you at least rifle through all the others? You don't have to go in order or keep playing old ones that you like. You should at least try listening to something new—just pick a record at random."

The brunette smirked at her enthusiasm. "Well, why don't you pick one, then, my lady?"

"Fine."

Lana stalked over to the nearest, largest shelf, and immediately recognized some of the album titles she pulled out: _Tarkus_ by Emerson, Lake &amp; Palmer, the band that held her namesake; _Madman Across the Water_ by Elton John; she even glimpsed _Out of Our Heads_ by the Rolling Stones.

But then, one album in particular caught her eye. It was one she had never seen, by a band she had never heard of.

_The Who_, she thought with curiosity. She flipped the record over to look at the track list. A single name blinked up at her from the list of songs, one that stood out above all the others.

It was called _Behind Blue Eyes_.

Hastily, she slipped the record out and slid it onto the player. Matt took hold of the needle and placed it, and the music began. The soft sound of an acoustic sashayed gracefully across the room.

_No one knows what it's like_

_ To be the bad man, to be the sad man _

_ Behind blue eyes_

Those first lines caught her immediately, making her ears perk up and ache to listen to the soft voice that emitted them. Those lines…they reminded her of that other part of herself—that violent, perpetually angry person that she had been for nearly the last seven years. That part of her that ached constantly, as if something vital were missing.

Absentmindedly, she began to sway to the music, allowing her eyes to slide closed as she did so. If either L or Matt were watching her, they said nothing and she didn't see. One of her hands itched to reach up and touch her sole blue eye, as if doing so would somehow reveal the writhing person behind it. What was the part of her that felt this way? How long had it been around?

Why did she care now? Everything had been fine for the past few weeks…but then again, the changes had also been very gradual. It took a mind trained in the art of boredom to notice it. Well, Lana had that; and now, she could see more clearly. She didn't like what she was becoming—a listless, bitterly angry person who seemed totally unlike her former self.

But lately…things had been changing. She laughed on occasion. She smiled more. It had been since…

Since she had met L.

And suddenly, Lana's skin felt as though she had been dunked into a freezing cold pool. Had L been the factor that brought out her former self? Had she subconsciously begun to think of him as a safety net? A constant? Or, dare she even say it, a friend?

All at once, her mind recoiled. A friend? No—she had no more real friends. Itzel was her only friend, and she was dead; she had never even known Lana's real name.

No. Lana Emerson Turk had no friends. All of her loved ones were dead. She lived on for them, to get out of here and live the lives they hadn't had the chance to. Why not? _She_ was alive. Living was all that mattered—that was what her father had made clear to her. Happiness was a concept she had given up on a long time ago—what remained was a sense of compulsive duty.

Yet even with this logical reassurance, the prior her still needled her conscience, and the song still continued to play.

_But my dreams, they aren't as empty_

_ As my conscience seems to be_

As the woman continued to sway, a small smile came onto her lips. It was a miniscule, ironic smile. It was true, she thought—though she spouted her resolve and the fact that she had nothing left to protect but herself, her mind and her subconscious decisions contradicted that belief.

In her dreams…in her dreams, she felt guilt. In her dreams…she felt love.

And that, above all else, terrifies her. How could she love when she had sworn to herself not to? The day she left her father to die, she became Emerson—a survivor. Not a nurturer or a lover—a survivor. Despite this, she had once again made the mistake of caring about Itzel. And what did that get her? Only more regret. But L was different—she had saved him because he was her ticket out of here.

The tiny voice in the back of her head voiced its disagreement, but remained largely ignored, only coming out in her daydreams and nightmares.

Her dreams were not empty.

But ever since L had become her companion and she his principle caretaker, this way of living had become harder and harder to maintain. Perhaps it was the way he always dug around and asked questions about her and her life. Perhaps it was the fact that he had saved her and she was understandably grateful. That, or she only felt obligated to help him. Lana didn't even bother to consider the fact that it might be something deeper. She subconsciously pushed that thought aside.

Similarly, her attachment to Near must have been a result of her innate tendency to nurture a younger brother. Alfie had been younger than Near when he died, but not by much. It was understandable that she would harbor a sense of obligation.

But L…he pushed all of her buttons. He poked and prodded his way into her life and her brain, and now he was trying to poke his way into her music?

_No one knows what it's like _

_To feel these feelings like I do_

_And I blame you_

It was his fault, she realized. She had established a tenuous system of existence with the part of her that cared and the part of her that felt rage and injustice more than anything else. Yet, with one feel swoop, that pale, baggy-eyed detective was trying to knock it all down. And the worst part of it was, even as she thought all of this, her body still swaying gently with the soft sound of the song's chorus…

She didn't care.

She was terrified, but she didn't care. She just kept swaying to the music, picking up her pace and moving her feet in repetitive patterns as the song's tempo increased dramatically. The riff of an electric guitar spilled into the small glass box, and the whole song began to blend into something dark, something else entirely new.

Still, Lana didn't care. She kept moving blindly. Dancing was a good distractor—how long had it been since she danced? Definitely over seven years, if she discounted fighting as a form of dance. So she kept moving, only to come to a stop when the music once again faded out to the slow trickle of an acoustic.

Slowly, gradually, Lana's world once more came to a grinding halt as she registered the sound of utter silence in an empty room. She opened her eyes, and blinked lazily at her surroundings. A familiar warm feeling crept onto her face.

Both men in the room were staring right at her. In all honesty, anyone else in her position would have opted to bow out—she didn't know which expression to be more put off by.

Matt was grinning cheekily at her, his hand halting the progress of the record player's needle from going onto the next track. Across his cheeks, there were bright red splotches, a consequence of one of the most intense blushes she had ever seen on a grown man's face.

L's expression, on the other hand, caused her insides to squirm uncomfortably. His face was usually, if not always, pensive and serious; as bright-eyed and curious as he sometimes appeared, his current countenance was barely a step above constipated. He was staring (glaring was actually more appropriate) at her with a mien of utmost concentration, as though he had never seen her before in all his life. She had the eerie but probably accurate feeling that he was analyzing her again, as he often did. His charcoal eyes harbored something the woman was unable to decode no matter how much she tried to crack them open. In the end, however, she ended up simply looking away out of stark discomfort, her own eye fluttering over to rest on the vinyl player's needle.

The room was so quiet that just the sound of Matt's voice was enough to cause Lana to jolt slightly.

"That was quite a performance," he called out teasingly. "Would you mind doing it again?"

Before the brunette could wipe the grin off his face, Lana had already slugged him upside the head. "Shut up," she chastised him. "I haven't danced in a while."

"It sure didn't look like it," Matt tried to reassure her. "You're a natural. Really," he emphasized, seeing the disbelieving stare on her face. "Right, Ryuuzaki?"

Lana was aghast to admit it, but this was the first time she believed the pale man had been caught off guard by a question. His eyes blinked lazily, rolling from the brunette who had posed the question to the focus of it, and came to rest entirely on her face once again. As soon as his dark orbs caught hers, it was as if she lost her ability to look away—he had ensnared her in his perceptive gaze and was loathe to let go of her.

"Hmm," was all that sneaked past his lips as his thumb meandered up to rest between them. It took Lana all of three seconds to realize where her eyes were straying, and she quickly averted them.

A noncommittal grunt sounded from the doorway, and the room's three inhabitants found themselves jolted out of their respective stupors by the man who stood before them. Mello was leaning heavily against the doorframe, his blue eyes looking both disinterested and focused.

"How long have you been standing there?"

The blonde chose to ignore Matt's question in favor of glaring at all three of them equally. "If you three are done fucking around, I actually need someone to come downstairs and help me sort through the basement. I need a new battery for my bike and all the ones I salvaged are buried under mountains of other shit. Any takers?"

By "any takers," Lana knew that he really meant her. L and Near were out of the question for obvious reasons; Matt was due on air in a few minutes. Besides, she was always the one to offer to help him anyways.

So she shook off the awkward air that had been pervading the room and gave an affirmative grunt. "Let's go."

The dark-haired woman left, following after the gruff blonde while trying to ignore the strange sensation of eyes boring into her back.

* * *

As L watched the dark-haired woman follow the other man out of the room, he found himself for once too distracted to take his eyes off of her. That nuance of his behavior had been steadily increasing in regularity as of late. It felt almost as if his eyes were magnetically drawn to her back. Though, if he were being honest, her back was not the only place his eyes felt drawn too. Her eyes were preferable.

This was not a new occurrence.

Ever since he had woken up here, he had noticed…changes in himself. More specifically, changes in his state of mind. Distantly, a tiny voice in the back of his head warned him of the possibility of mental decline; he had been inactive in his search for B for far too long. Despite the fact that he had tried to spend every available waking moment going over the details of the case, wondering if he had overlooked a pertinent detail, he somehow always found his mind beginning to drift over to other images. A specific person had been occupying his thoughts with greater frequency. And now that she had left the room, those thoughts came back in full force.

Lana's nearly constant presence in his life had begun to bleed over into his private thoughts as well. Whenever she had left his side to assist Mello or to use the bathroom, he would be left sitting in his room or eating from his box of pastries on the couch. Then, suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, he found his mind pondering where she was, or what was taking her so long to get back. And always, when she came back to see him after her brief absence, he felt the pit in his stomach twist and tighten to uncomfortable proportions.

Rightfully, he blamed her_. If she were not so intent on being near me at all hours of the day, this would not be an issue_. He was talking to her more and more, to the point where it made him feel absolutely clumsy and useless when she was trying to help him walk. Because of his _stomach_. Of course, that sudden onslaught of physical nervousness and distraction also had another cause (a physical one), but he still felt uncomfortable around her. This was a puzzle he did not quite know how to solve. When he had first met her, he had been strangely comforted by her presence; but now, it felt as though being near her was driving him mad. She had been incorrect in her deduction that he had been avoiding her because of her temperamental treatment of him during his rehabilitation. He had expected nothing less of her. In fact, it hadn't been her attitude that drove him away—it had just been _her_.

"_Ryuuzaki,"_ the brunette next to him drawled out his alias, and L only then realized that the man had been calling his "name" for quite some time.

"Yes?" he said quietly, still not looking at Matt; his eyes remained fixed on the doorway.

"I was just saying that I've been trying to fix the communicator lately, and I managed to repair most of the damage."

L's ears perked up. Perhaps he had finally caught a break. "And? Have you been able to turn on the devices?"

"No." Matt's answer was honest and blunt. "But I've found something that could be of help." He brought the two pieces of equipment out, removing them from a small box that had been kept under his desk. He laid them out on the table. "As you can see, the wiring and electrical connections have been repaired for the most part. I've done a complete overhaul on the circuitry using what I could find around here—that stuff is really freaking advanced—so in theory, the devices should be working perfectly. But that's where the interesting part comes in." The guy's voice took on a sly tone, and he wore an expression of rapt attention. "This is one of the strangest little pieces of technology that I've ever seen. It's extremely durable, so I'm actually surprised that you managed to break it. Then again, I guess whoever made this didn't expect to be violently attacked by crazy people. And get this—unlike most communicators, it doesn't use either regular lithium batteries or rechargeable ones. Both of these contraptions here use a ferromagnetic battery that's attached to the circuitry. The way it works is that you basically jump-start the devices with a jolt of electricity, which is retained in the ferromagnetic core for a specific length of time. When you turn it off, the battery retains the electrical current until you turn it on again. It could probably last for six months if you use it wisely."

He sighed, indicating a change of tone. "Whatever damage you did caused the current to diffuse."

L nodded, his brain processing Matt's words at lightning speed. "I see. So that means we must find another source of electrical energy?"

The other man nodded. "Yeah. That's gonna be tough, though. We can't just stick a fork in the toaster like before, and trying to siphon off the building's electricity could cause a short in the whole backup system. I'm not risking that. Something like old-fashioned static would work, though."

The pale man nodded again, chewing on his thumb more furiously now. "But we'd need another conduit to work as a carrier for the current."

Matt grinned. "Something like a pair of jumper cables and a big-ass sweater? We don't have cables here, though…I guess I'll ask Mello to go out again after he's done replacing the battery in his bike."

"So we wait then," L conceded, a new sense of purpose cresting in his mind. It looked as though he had finally found a way to get back in touch with Watari. His leg was almost healed, and soon enough, he and Lana would be able to fully get back to the case and to chasing B.

He tensed at that last thought. He and Lana…he had added her name without hesitation. A gnawing, negative feeling began to resonate in his mind; just as he had feared, the woman who had initially punched him in the face had now become an ally…her dying would serve no benefit to him solving the case, and was therefore pointless and unnecessary. He was supposed to leave her behind—in L's opinion, this was tantamount to giving her a death sentence.

Yet, L knew in his heart that the situation had not changed—objectively, anyway. The goal was still the same. Find B. Stop him from killing people and fulfilling whatever strange plans he has. Do what is necessary to do so, and do not stop to think about trivial matters. This reasoning, this guideline, was how he solved every case he had been presented with and taken. He had promised Watari that he would follow through with abandoning her if it came down to it; at the time, he had genuinely believed that he would get over whatever polite fascination he had with the scarred woman.

That hadn't happened. And now, for the first time ever, L sat silently and stupefied, uncertain of just what he should be feeling.

* * *

**The song that was playing in the background in the studio was **_**Behind Blue Eyes**_** by The Who, circa 1971. I do not own it, nor do I own any of the albums that were mentioned in this chapter. If you haven't heard the original song, I highly recommend that you go listen to it. It's bitchin'. **

**As always, thank you for reading, and leave me some feedback if you want.**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	15. Learning to be Human

**Author's Note: Well, here we are. Another few weeks, another chapter. I like the way things are going. I hope all of you like the new situation I threw in here. I was very excited to include it!**

** To WildfireDreams: The Who is awesome. I just had to include it.**

** To version15: Thanks! Yeah, L definitely doesn't seem like the type of person to rush headlong into something like romance. I have a hard time believing he would even understand the concept. xD **

** To garnet86: You're welcome! I intended to have the last chapter be a sort of transition for L and Lana. Nothing's really happened between them, but it's a good sign that the two of them are starting to acknowledge the changes in their relationship, even if they can't quite accept them yet. **

** To SweetRiceball20: Haha, thanks! :) You don't have to beg, but thank you anyway. **

** To leedleleedlelawliet: You flatter me way too much, lol. I feel like the bar has been raised too high for me now! Oh well, I guess I'll just keep trying to make this story more awesome. Thanks a lot for your support! **

** Warnings: Angst, mild profanity. **

* * *

**Chapter 15: Learning to be Human**

Though night had already fallen, the man with the mustache had stayed awake. It was almost laughable, how alert he was at this time of day; the sun outside had begun to set, but his white lab coat made him seemingly impervious to the night's gradual claws.

Absentmindedly, he raised the heel of his calloused palm to the itchy eyes hidden by his spectacles, rubbing them with a resigned sigh. He had already been working for hours, analyzing the same sample over and over again. It was getting to the point where he began to feel he didn't need sleep—he could do fine without it—but he needed _something_. It had been so long since he had discovered anything worthwhile that he was close to giving up hope.

But then, if he were to do that, to simply shrug off all of his efforts up to this point and surrender, to give up and resign himself to a cursed fate, what good would that do? For the world, for mankind—and himself, for that matter?

So he pushed that thought away and resumed his work.

Ever so slowly, he lowered the pipette in his hand into the scarlet vial and removed a few millimeters of blood. He placed one drop into a sterilized petri dish, mindful of his shaking hands. He then resealed the vial and placed the dirtied pipette into a bleach-based cleaning solution. He had found that soaking objects in bleach was the only surefire method of sterilizing anything that had been contaminated with PHD—a piece of knowledge that had saved his life many times.

But of course, humans couldn't just drink bleach to cure themselves, so that important tidbit of information, while useful, was all but null when it came to finding a quick cure. So the man had taken it upon himself to test out every single active ingredient and chemical element in bleach, in an attempt to develop a non-lethal substance that could eliminate the virus. The other scientists who had been studying this shortly after the initial outbreak had not come up with anything conclusive.

Still, he had never given up any of his hope. He was a resilient man, a man dedicated to justice and freedom for all people. He had too much at stake, too many principles to allow himself to lie down and surrender.

He took out a new, clean pipette and added a single drop of a clear solution to the petri dish, watching in rapt fascination as it mixed with the blood to create a less opaque pink hue. He capped the round dish and put it aside; he would check it later with the microscope and record any changes.

For now, he removed his gloves and rinsed his hands with a watered-down bleach formula before taking off his mask. He released a weary sigh, running his fingers through his gray-streaked hair.

Then, in the smothering silence of the darkening room, he heard the unmistakable sounds of scuffling. Scratching noises and low whispers emanated from the anteroom behind him. He instantly stiffened, caught off guard by the sound. Was there something here? A raccoon, maybe? With a high sense of trepidation, he followed the noise.

As he entered the anteroom, his eyes scanned over the boarded-up windows and heavily locked door. As he continued to listen, he was able to make out a distinct noise:

"…_get in?"_

The man's eyes widened.

There were _people _on the other side of that door—and from the sounds of it, they were trying to get in.

"Father?" the voice of a young woman whispered as she entered the anteroom after him. Without making a sound, he turned to face her and placed a finger over his lips, asking for silence. She nodded, coming over to stand beside him. The man could hear the people—he guessed from their voices that there were only two—talking quietly on the other side, but they were muted and hushed.

He walked forward tentatively, stopping right in front of the door's peephole. He looked through it, and his eyes nearly overtook the size of his glasses. He had been correct—there were two people, but they were absolutely _not _what he had been expecting.

For one thing, they looked harmless enough. The girl was young, no older than her early twenties, with blonde hair and bright eyes. She clutched the man's arm like a lifeline, despite the fact that he looked just as haggard and lost as she. His dark, shaggy hair contrasted greatly with her radiant features, but he too gave off no hint of malice or ill intent. And they both looked terrified and withdrawn into themselves, as though they expected to be jumped at any moment. He supposed that they had reason; muggings were common nowadays. The pair had probably almost gotten into trouble more than once.

As he watched, the two continued to whisper to each other.

"Come on, Matsu!" the girl encouraged enthusiastically, even with her voice kept low. "We can do it! We just have to beat the door down!"

"Uh, yeah, Misa, but I don't think we're strong enough to break down a door."

The girl huffed. "Well, I can't do it by _myself_. You're strong, right, Matsu? Come on, I'm going to starve to death soon!" Her voice became high and whiny, corresponding with the uncertain expression blooming on the guy's face.

"Uh, maybe we should try the back? There might be another door we can get through."

The blonde girl nodded her head eagerly. "Uh-huh! Okay, Matsu. Let's go before one of those gross sick people finds us."

The man with the glasses started as they both turned and began to walk away. He knew that they would find no accessible back door; he had made sure to lock the back one as well. It was too risky to let any entrance remain unlocked; he couldn't allow the dregs of society or any of the escaped infected to get in.

Yet, he found himself sliding open the boarded-up mail slot and speaking to the backs of the new arrivals.

"Wait."

* * *

Lana hefted a burlap sack over her shoulder, hearing the clink and clatter of the mystery jars inside as they bumped against each other. With her unoccupied hand, she grasped a petite box of what looked to be old taco shells. She held the faded box up, staring at it with dubious regard.

"I know this technically counts as food," she muttered aloud, "but I'd like to see someone try to choke down these stale things."

The blonde, who was shuffling through the boxes behind her, gave no indication that he was listening—but then again, he never did. Instead, he grabbed the other two bags that were hanging out on top of a rather large box and set them ungraciously aside. It seemed that he had found what he came down here for; he tore open the cardboard, which revealed to the scarred woman all manners of auto-related parts and pieces that she had absolutely no idea how to use.

Mello picked up the whole thing and speed-walked out of the room, heading towards the garage where his bike was parked. Lana followed him, figuring that she would assist him if he happened to need any help. Besides, she felt too awkward at the moment to go back upstairs and face L. Even now, her back felt as though he had burned two holes in it—such was the power of his gaze. Right then, being around the blonde was what she needed: a self-imposed, quiet, drama-free environment where no one would ask her any questions or expect her to do so either.

At least, that's what she believed until Mello decided to finally open his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, so casual and abrupt that the woman had to take a few seconds to even process his question. He didn't look up at her when he spoke, obviously too absorbed in replacing the battery of his bike to pay much attention.

She shrugged in response, before remembering that he wasn't even looking at her. She made a noise of uncertainty. "I just figured I'd be here in case you needed any help."

"Really." It wasn't a question.

"Really," she responded in kind.

And that was that; neither of them said anything more on the subject. In the meantime, Lana ignored the clank of metal on metal as Mello fitted the new battery to his motorcycle. She busied herself with counting the visible holes in the ceiling; so far, she had located twenty-four of them. A few more minutes passed, giving way to approximately seventeen more holes and the start of a boredom-induced migraine before the blonde spoke again.

"You're getting better at lying," he said. That was all—just a dry observation of the skill level of her dishonesty.

She was understandably confounded. "What?"

He sat back, reaching into the large box once again in order to pull out a monkey wrench. "Lying," he repeated. "You're getting better at it."

She pursed her lips in frustration, annoyed by the man's cryptic words. "How do you figure?" she egged on. Her curiosity had been piqued; the blonde had never been so talkative and civil to her before. This fact probably would have made anyone else a bit depressed, but seeing as how Mello was a characteristically unpleasant person, Lana saw it as being the equivalent of a hug or handshake.

The blonde returned his attention to his bike, grunting as he made an especially loud grinding noise with the wrench. "If I hadn't seen the look on your face after I went into Matt's studio just now, I wouldn't know why you're really still down here."

She raised an eyebrow as her heart sped up a notch. "Oh, really? Then why _am _I still down here, Mello?" Even to her own ears, her voice came across as biting and brutish. Perfect—now the two of them were on equal terms.

He sighed before grabbing another tool; this time, it was a pair of pliers that had definitely seen better days. "Because you're too nervous to go back upstairs."

_Bam_. He'd hit it right on the mark on his first guess; Lana's eyes narrowed. "Nervous? What do I have to be nervous about?"

The man shrugged curtly in response, seeming suddenly tenser than before. "I don't know. The way you were staring at Ryuuzaki might lead some people to speculate, though."

Her jaw dropped, but she regained her composure before he could see. "What are you talking about, Mello?" She sighed as she spoke, attempting to come across as uncaring and inconspicuous in her true feelings regarding his (thoroughly unjustified) accusation.

For the first time, a pair of bright blue eyes met hers. This time, he held her gaze, even when she was certain that he would look away out of pressure or because of her eye. He seemed to find whatever it was that he was searching for, because as he looked away he said, "Pretty good. I almost couldn't tell."

Lana's eye twitched. The nerve of that man! She was this close to pummeling his face in—only after a thorough verbal beatdown, of course. Who was _he_ to tell her what she did and felt? It was none of his business. She opened her mouth to inform him of this, but a casual voice interrupted her.

"Hey, guys," Matt called.

Lana shot around and saw the brunette lingering in the doorway that led to the garage. "You haven't torn each others' heads off yet, I guess."

"Obviously," the blonde muttered under his breath. Lana found herself agreeing with his sentiment with only minor regret. It wasn't Matt's fault that she was so irritated.

"Good to hear," the tech-guy admitted, allowing his hands to linger in the pockets of his distressed jeans. "Oi, Mello, I have something I need, if you're gonna go out again soon."

The man in question grunted. "I was planning to go out tomorrow. What do you need?"

"A pair of jumper cables and some conductive wire. Something that can carry an electrical current. Copper would work, if you can find it."

Mello's eyebrows rose questioningly.

"It's for fixing Ryuuzaki's communicator."

That answer seemed to satisfy him. "Hm. I'll go out tomorrow morning."

"Great. Thanks, man."

At that moment, Lana chose to interject. "Tomorrow? Do you mind if I go with you?" Although she really didn't want to go on what amounted to a scavenger hunt with the blonde, she had little to no choice. She was in dire need of a product of the feminine variety. Her last cycle had been a few days before the explosion at Waterfront. In spite of the fact that her periods were irregular more often than not (and always had been), she could always tell when they were approaching. It was just a gut feeling—literally. Her body had always been both a faithful vessel and a calendar.

In any case, she needed something—preferably tampons—and was not at all comfortable with asking _Mello_, of all people, to get them for her. The only person she dreaded telling more was L, even though all of the males here—Near included, for obvious reasons—most likely had an equal level of understanding (or rather, lack thereof) regarding the finesse of choosing the correct tampon products for her. No—this was one situation she had no intention of relaying. She would have to go with the blonde and find them on her own.

"You want to go?" Matt asked, brows furrowed in concentration and concern.

"Why?" Mello echoed, eyes slanted in undue suspicion.

Lana shrugged nonchalantly. "There's something I need to get. Got a problem with that?"

The blonde scoffed at her, as if he were insulted that she would even consider the ludicrous idea that he would care about what she did—even if it directly involved him. "As long as you don't get in my way."

"Lovely," she commented dryly. "Nice to know we're on the same page, then. Since you look like you're done with your bike and whatnot, I'm gonna go back upstairs. Later." With that, she sauntered out of the garage, trying to appear as casual as possible. That guy was really getting on her nerves, almost like he had been trying to push her buttons—or maybe he was just a dick, plain and simple. Either way, it wasn't _her_ problem. All she had wanted to do was have a few minutes of comfortable silence—was that too much to ask? To Mello, apparently, it was.

As soon as she got upstairs, she went straight to the room she shared with Near. The boy had proven to be quite the light sleeper, and had, upon his arrival, not even been able to sleep through the night. The scarred woman figured that it was because he was so accustomed to living at Parkerville that being in a new place was disturbing for him. When Lana had first taken notice of this, she had begun to have him sleep in the same room as her, rather than one of his own. This was in part because he had taken to going to _her_ room and waking_ her_ up when he couldn't sleep; this was quite a feat, since Lana was known to lash out violently in her sleep on occasion when people tried to wake her up. Even Itzel, for all the time she had known her, wouldn't dare to try and wake her while she was in a deep slumber. The white-haired boy was quite brave. And, interestingly enough, he had never gotten hurt by Lana while she was in one of her restless stages.

However, he wasn't in their room now, and for that Lana was grateful. She needed some alone time.

* * *

After finishing up the last touches on his bike, Mello began to pack up all of his tools. He placed the box back in its previous position (sans the overabundance of crap on top of it), paying no mind to the brunette who was still hovering behind him. That is, until he called his name.

"Oi, Mello," he started, waiting for a response. When he didn't receive one, he tried again, this time with a direct approach. "This room is full of bad vibes. What were you two fighting about this time?"

The blonde scoffed, his nerves already frayed from a few minutes before. "Leave it alone, Matt."

His long-time friend sighed, taking a courageous step forward. He placed his hand on Mello's shoulder in what the other man supposed was intended to be a comforting gesture. But instead of comforting him, it merely caused him to tense up. The two stood still for a moment before Matt replied.

"Whatever, man. But I'm here if you ever want to talk about it. Lana's a pretty cool girl when you give her a chance, so—" The brunette was cut off when Mello viciously ripped his shoulder from his grasp, then spun around to glare daggers at his friend's stunned face.

"Shut it, okay, Matt?" He pushed past him, tidying up the rest of the room. "Just because you've got a pathetic crush on her doesn't mean that I have to like her, too. She's a bitch."

From behind him, Mello saw his friend turn his head slightly, his expression pained and uncomfortable. "You shouldn't call her that, Mello. You don't know her."

"And you do? Stop fucking kidding yourself. You haven't even known her a month. I can't believe I'm going to take her with me tomorrow."

Matt spun around to face him, for once catching the blonde by surprise. His friend's eyes were bright and serious, not full of mirth or his usual brand of disinterest. "What's been going on with you lately, Mello? You're being even more brooding than usual. Why are you taking it out on Lana? You…"

And then, Matt's eyes began to shine with realization. His posture relaxed, and the hands at his sides slowly unclenched. "Mello…"

Before the man could finish his sentence, the blonde had already swept out of the room.

He all but sprinted upstairs and away from his friend, with no rational thought or destination in mind. His feet seemed to be moving of their own accord, dragging him in a specific direction, towards a specific room.

He paid no mind to the concept of privacy or basic manners as he crashed through the door with a deafening _boom_. There were sure to be visible cracks in the plaster that he would have to deal with the next day, but he didn't care at the moment.

A very befuddled—and now very angry—Lana stared at the blonde as he barreled into her room, her eyes wide and shocked by his intrusion. Without skipping a beat, the woman reacted in the way he had come to expect.

"What the _fuck_?" she exploded, jumping up to her feet and getting into her fight stance. He resisted the urge to scoff at her; did she really believe that he would attack her? "What the hell are you _doing_, Mello?"

He didn't do her the courtesy of answering, instead jumping straight to the heart of what he had come to say. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't like you, and you obviously don't like me. I don't want you to come with me."

She exhaled with an air of condescension and rolled her eyes. "Really? I can't say that's a shock, but you probably should've mentioned it earlier. Well, too fucking bad. I'm going with you, Mello. You can't keep me from coming."

"I'm not trying to," he snapped. "I'm just letting you know how it is. I don't want you thinking of me as your friend or even your acquaintance. All you are is a person who happens to be sharing the same roof."

She laughed at him openly, the sound full of spiteful humor that tore at his self-control. "Oh, _wow_. No problem, Mel. I wouldn't want to be friends with an arrogant asshole like you, anyway. So don't worry about it."

He growled low in his throat. "How come you can't just shut up?"

She snickered. "So now it's _me_ who can't shut up? What, have you lost your nerve? Don't want to fight anymore?_ You're_ the one who's trying to start shit."

"Shut _up_. Just because everyone else seems to like you and is willing to put up with your bullshit doesn't mean I'm going to. I'm not Matt, or that prick Near, and I'm sure as hell not that fucking freak Ryuuzaki."

In an instant, Lana's demeanor switched from irked and argumentative to a much darker, deadly aura. Her eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched at her sides, fisting the material of her pants.

"Fuck you, Mello," she said quietly. "Get out."

When the blonde didn't move, her voice raised in volume. "Get out." Her hands started shaking as if she were restraining herself, and the pitch of her tone got higher. "Get out. Get out. _Get out_!"

She reached out with both of her arms and shoved him. Caught off guard, he backed up a few paces. When he regained his balance, she came forward and shoved him again. And again, until he found himself standing right outside the door, banished from the confines of her room. He was too stunned by her sudden outburst to move forward, or even hit her back. As soon as his foot left the room, the door slammed closed in his face, blowing cool air in his direction. Though he remained standing outside for a few minutes, he didn't hear any other noises coming from inside; she had fallen completely silent. And once he was standing out there, completely alone with himself and the unforgiving quiet, he realized that he had just crossed a line.

The only thing was, he didn't know if he would be able to go back.

_Get out. Get out. Get out._

* * *

Mello paused outside one of the rooms of the other kids, lingering by the doorway as he was walking by. He heard the sounds of a scuffle coming from within, accompanied by the low murmurs of a bickering pair. The door was only open a crack, but he could still see what was going on inside.

Emilia, the new girl, was knelt down on one knee, her hands busy fiddling with the plaid cashmere button-up of a young boy who stood in front of her. Although he was young, with a head of dark curly hair rather than straight, the resemblance in the pair's facial features was striking. The only noticeable difference that Mello could detect were their expressions, hers being irritated and determined, while his was annoyed and restless. He whined consistently in Spanish as she did his buttons, and then began to straighten his hair with her fingers.

"Tienes que hacer lo que yo te diga," she said in a harsh voice as he attempted to escape the fingers that grabbed at his scalp.

"Tus manos son pegajoso!" he whined profusely, mussing up his hair once more almost as soon as she had finished reorganizing it.

"Rafael!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "Por favor, Rafael. Tu pelo es desordenado y—"

"Me gusta mi pelo!" the boy proclaimed proudly as he puffed up his chest. "Me solta!"

Obviously, the blonde did not understand what the two siblings were saying, but he could read the situation well enough from their tones of voice and actions. Clearly, the boy was refusing to cooperate.

Before he could fully comprehend his actions, he had stepped into the room. The two heads that occupied it snapped in his direction at the sound of the door creaking, both of them halting in their activities.

"Hey," he said to the boy in his most intimidating voice, "listen to your sister. She's bigger than you."

He was fairly certain that the boy didn't speak any English, if his older sister's level of speaking was any indication, but he looked terrified nonetheless. Perhaps he knew the word "sister," or maybe "listen," because he instantly stopped moving and allowed Emilia to continue her ministrations on his hair.

"L-lo siento," he said apologetically, his dark eyes now trained on his white sneakers. Emilia smiled at him, patting his cheek in undisguised affection.

She then stood up and walked over to the now-confused blonde with a timid grin on her face. Before Mello could stop her or ask what the hell she was doing, she angled her face up to his and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Upon sight of the teenager's stunned expression, her grin widened. "Thank you, Mello," she said quietly, her dimples lighting up her face spectacularly. "Now get out, please."

And just like that, she threw him out of the room.

* * *

By the time L made it back to his room, he was long past exhausted. Not mentally, but physically. His day had been nothing but a series of foreign sensations and attempts at rehabilitation, as well as a great deal of pondering. Matt's discovery was significant, but strangely enough, this was not the thought that was plaguing him.

As he wandered down the hallway that led to his room, he paused outside a familiar doorway that contained the principle source of his current confusion.

It was Lana's room.

Feeling slightly apprehensive about his actions, he pushed open the door. It whined a bit, but not every loudly. This was a godsend, since he realized upon entering that she was already asleep and would most likely have chastised him had he awoken her.

She was curled up on her side, the wool blanket that she had found in the basement some odd weeks ago only going up a bit past her hip. She was facing his direction, her dark hair brushing against her closed eyes as she slumbered.

And there was someone else with her.

Near was also sleeping soundly, having obviously moved from his previous position a few feet away from her. He had managed to migrate completely over to her bed. Whether the act had been intentional or as a result of a restless sleep, L could not be certain.

However, he _was_ certain that he did not like the position that they were in. The white-haired boy was almost enveloped by her body, snuggled deep into her side. His head was pressed flush against her chest, his face almost hidden in her shirt. His hands were smothered between them, while hers were looser, draped across his smaller form and under her pillow. They were both sleeping soundly, their breathing deep and relaxed as if in a pleasant dream.

Briefly, the detective wondered what she was dreaming about, and quite suddenly, he wasn't so exhausted anymore.

He took a seat in the chair beside the open door, opting to sit there until sleep or something else claimed his attention. And as he sat, he watched the two people who were sleeping in front of him. Once again, he found his mind drifting to the sudden feeling of discomfort that had lodged itself deep in his gut. It grew worse as he watched the pair's relaxed postures, but he could not pinpoint the reason for its occurrence. It seemed to bloom anew whenever his dark eyes roamed over Near, something which had never happened before.

The existence of the white-haired child was not nearly as insufferable as he had thought it would be initially. The boy had a silent presence, and what L could tell was a thoughtful mind. He would have even liked to have him as a possible protégé, though the boy would have to learn to be less icy and more empathetic. In any case, he hadn't bothered him—yet now, here he was, not even awake and causing the pale man's skin to crawl with a thin layer of annoyance.

_What is wrong with me?_ What was so terrible about a woman and child sharing a bed? Logically, nothing, L knew. Neither of them were doing anything inappropriate, aside from the fact that the boy's head was separated from Lana's chest by a thin barrier of fabric.

And all of a sudden, the detective pictured himself where Near was, wrapped in the warmth and comfort only another human could provide. He had experienced it once with her, and it had been pleasant, but it had not been to the degree that Near was receiving it.

This made sense, naturally. The boy, despite being wise beyond his years and possibly even more mature than Matt, was still young. He had been starved of human contact for so long that he had grown to abhor it, as a defense mechanism. He became uncomfortable with it—except, L saw, for in his sleep. In unconsciousness, he craved warmth and reassurance as all children and most adults did, something that Lana was best suited to provide for him. To seek it from anyone else—Matt, Mello, or himself—would be awkward and would ultimately lead to rejection.

Of all of this, L was aware. Yet that did not stop him from picturing himself in Near's shoes and subconsciously wishing that the boy would go away. No—this was a different issue altogether.

And it was something that, he realized with a slight grimace, he was no closer to understanding.

"Ryuuzaki?"

L swiveled his head at the sound of his alias, meeting Matt's green eyes as he poked his head through the door. "I was just gonna head to bed and I saw that the door was open. I—Oh." He lowered his voice significantly when he saw the two other people in the room. Then, a small, knowing smirk flashed across his features. "Well, would ya look at that."

"At what?" L prompted, wondering where the other man was going with this, and if it had any similarity to his own thoughts.

The brunette shrugged. "It's just how peaceful they look. It's kinda nice. I would've thought they were brother and sister from the way she treats him—much nicer than she treats me, by the way, the lucky kid."

"That I believe."

The two sat in silence for a few long moments, the only sounds being the lull of Near and Lana's breathing patterns.

"She just looks so different when she sleeps, y'know?" Matt observed. "Almost like she's a different person. At heart, I think she's just a big softie, even if her punches do hurt like hell."

L couldn't help but agree with the last statement, but was put off slightly by the first. Something else had caught his attention, sending an alert signal to his brain. It was something in the tone of Matt's voice and, he found as he read the man's facial expression, in his eyes as well.

"Matt, are you infatuated with Lana?"

The man's green eyes bulged in response, which was more than a clear answer for the detective. The brunette opened and closed his mouth soundlessly for a few moments before responding to L's prompt.

"Why would you ask that?" he stuttered. When L didn't elaborate, he sighed, reaching around to scratch the back of his head. "I guess I'm pretty obvious, huh? Mello saw it too." There was another drawn-out pause before the man realized that L wasn't going to say anything more on the subject. "I hope this doesn't make things awkward between us, Ryuuzaki."

The detective raised a questioning eyebrow at the man beside him. "Why would it?"

Although Matt looked stumped for a second, a smile soon came over his face. "No reason. You're right. I guess…I guess I was just worrying over nothing."

"Hm." One long, pale finger found itself caught between L's teeth as he returned his attention to the sleeping pair.

It was a few more seconds before Matt sighed. "Well, I'm gonna go to bed…night, Ryuuzaki."

"Likewise."

The door shut with a subtle click as the brunette exited the room, leaving L alone once again to ponder the new developments. Apparently, Matt had…some sort of attachment, romantic or otherwise, to his female companion. Whether or not the feelings were real or Matt simply believed them to be, L still found himself bothered by this new discovery. It wasn't as though he and Lana were inexorably linked, so it shouldn't matter if some other male expressed interest. It was only natural.

His head perked up. Is that what his feelings were? Natural? Was it natural for a platonic companion to feel irritation from the presence of other prospective males in his partner's life? He had remembered learning about such a phenomenon when he was young, called "jealousy." He had never felt it himself, having never really envied anyone else before. Sure, he hated losing and valued competition, but that wasn't necessarily the same thing.

Is that what this was? If so, he would need to get to the bottom of it. He had to know where he stood in this scenario. Sooner or later, he would find his answer.

But for right now, it seemed as though he still had a lot to learn.

* * *

**Translations: **

Tienes que hacer lo que yo te diga: You are to do as I say

Tus manos son pegajoso: Your hands are sticky

Por favor: Please

Tu pelo es desordenado: Your hair is messy

Me gusta mi pelo: I like my hair

Me solta: Let go of me

**Is everybody happy that Matsuda and Misa are alive? I've been waiting to bring them back in! I also wonder if everyone knows who the scientist and his daughter are. **

**Once again, I hope everyone liked this chapter, and please review if you've got the time!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	16. The Game

** Author's Note: I haven't been feeling well lately, probably because of the heat. I always get so sluggish when it's hot. That's a good thing for you guys, because that means I use more of my time to write and refine this fic. In other news, there's something important that you have to watch out for in this chapter! I hope it comes as a surprise later. :) **

** To leedleleedlelawliet: Yay! I'm glad I made it obvious enough who the pair is. They'll be in the story more later. It makes me really happy that you like this story so much, and take the time to analyze all of the different scenes. Thanks :)**

** To version15: Thank you! Now that I think about it, I seldom come across a jealous L, probably because he's almost always better than everyone else at what he does. I wanted to shake things up a little bit!**

** To garnet86: I've got all sorts of plans, hee hee…But seriously, I was nervous about the last two chapters because they're full of much more prose than dialogue. Prose is infinitely harder to write, at least for me, so I'm glad you liked reading L's and Lana's thoughts! It means a lot. **

** To SweetRiceball20: Ah, yes, because you can't have a healthy relationship develop without an obsessive psychopath watching from the shadows, lol. I'd be scared if I were L! Thanks for the review!**

** To WildfireDreams: I told you that some people were going to survive! As for the rest, you'll just have to wait and see, though the next few chapters should clear that up. **

** Warnings: Profanity. **

* * *

**Chapter 16: The Game**

Morning couldn't have come any sooner, Lana found—and she didn't mean that in a good way. Rather, she meant that morning came far too soon for her tastes.

This was for a few reasons. First of all, and most importantly, she was dreading any future time that would be spent with the king of assholes himself. In other words, Mello.

No matter what she had done to relax last night, she had still only found her feelings of anger and frustration to be amplified, rather than dissuaded by time. She was certain Mello was feeling the same way, and for once felt a twinge of camaraderie with the loathsome blonde. This realization would have been considered a bit sad if the dark-haired woman could find it within herself to give a damn, but she couldn't. She might even consider laughing in his face if he tried to apologize—not that she really believed there was a snowball's chance of that ever happening.

The second reason Lana had been dreading today was that she hated mornings. If the crust in her eyes were not enough of a reason to hate waking up, the sluggish sensation in her limbs would still have done her head in a long time ago.

The currently on-edge woman finished lacing up her Docs, then stretched her arms out high above her head. She gave an overly large yawn as she did so, rubbing her sore eye with a closed fist. She then turned towards the person who was still lying asleep in her bed.

Lana had no idea at what point during the night Near had crawled over to snuggle himself into her side, but she was, quite frankly, more impressed with his sneakiness than pissed off by his violation of her personal space. He was just a kid, after all—she was willing to cut him a break once in a while.

Still, she found it mildly amusing that he had managed to fold himself almost completely into her side without rousing her or receiving a nasty black eye. He had also apparently succeeded in disturbing her furniture without bothering her, because she was one hundred percent certain that the chair by the door had not been so close to her when she had gone to bed last night. She didn't know why the white-haired boy had moved it, but she wasn't about to wake him up in order to ask him. At this point, she simply didn't care enough; she could wait until she got back, if she ever decided to ask him at all.

So right now, instead of pestering him or pulling off his blankets as her own brother had done to her on multiple occasions, she knelt down by Near's side.

The action was so familiar to her, it came without warning. She seemed to lose her sense of motor control as she ran her palm over his head, ruffling his snow-white hair. Then, without a sound, she got up and left, careful not to let the door make any sort of noise that might rouse the boy sleeping inside.

The moment she turned back around to face the hallway, the young woman nearly leapt out of her skin.

Mello was standing right behind her, his blue eyes cold and hard as they scrutinized her carefully.

"You're late," he accused in a harsh tone, beaming his animosity straight into Lana's own gaze.

She returned the glare on instinct. "Am I? I didn't realize you had set a time. You might want to let me know in advance next time." The sarcasm lacing her voice was strong, full of pins and needles that seemed to effectively shred the remainder of Mello's patience.

"At the crack of dawn," he blurted out. He took a pause before clarifying his point. "Whenever I go out, I always get up at the crack of dawn. So you're late."

The scarred woman almost rolled her eyes at him. "Okay, then. Now I know. Let's go, then."

The blonde took note of the rucksack that had been slung over her shoulder and nodded, seemingly in approval of her foresight. "Let's go get some rations first. We don't know exactly how long it'll take."

"Yep."

The pair stayed utterly silent as they ventured to the studio to gather food, neither making any sort of attempt at small talk or even—especially—pleasantries. Lana had the feeling that neither herself nor Mello felt the need to talk idly about trivial matters unless they took a direct interest in them. Small talk was unnecessary between the two, particularly so in light of the recent happenings. They _had_ a point of interest, Lana thought—their fight last night—but that was a subject she gathered the blonde didn't want to broach.

And, in all honesty, neither did she. She already felt uncomfortable enough as it was. She didn't want a failed attempt at reconciliation with Mello to be the icing on her already-shitty morning.

Yes, silent denial and ignoring the problem was the way to go. All she needed to do was convince herself of that, and she'd be golden.

The quiet click and creak of the door opening caught her attention, and in walked a sleepy Matt. At any rate, he _looked_ sleepy—his brown hair was mussed and his green eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

"Hey," he said in a drawn voice as he entered the room. Lana almost felt bad for him, and was about to make a crack about his physical state to relieve the tension. However, he seemed to perk up after he greeted them, and she decided to let the matter go. A small smirk crawled over his features, and she caught a glimpse of him watching her out of the corner of her good eye. "Are you guys heading out?"

"Yeah," Lana offered with a sigh as she zipped up her bag. "Feel free to use the studio right now, if you want. We won't keep you."

Matt raised his eyebrows at her curt greeting, but wasn't discouraged by her antisocial behavior. "You weren't even going to say goodbye?" he teased lightly.

Despite her foul mood, his upbeat demeanor infected her. She was about to respond, probably with another cutting remark as per usual, when the blonde beside her decided to interject on her behalf.

"You'll see her again later, Matt." His tone was exasperated.

The brunette wasn't put off in the slightest by Mello's quip. "I know, I know," he conceded with a tinge of humor in his voice. "Just make sure you guys come back in one piece, okay? No tearing out throats or anything."

"Like always," the blonde forced out as he finished packing up his stuff. He grabbed his gun from a nearby safe, sliding it into the holster on his thigh.

"Let's go," he said to Lana as he swept by her, not even bothering to make eye contact.

The woman made to follow him, but was halted by a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Matt standing beside her, his face awash in seriousness and, to her surprise, genuine concern. The expression was so unlike the one he had only just been wearing that she found it in her to be shocked.

"Be safe out there, okay?" he asked her, his gaze softening.

Befuddled, she only nodded her head rather than giving him a tangible response. Despite not feeling quite up to it, she also gave him a small smile, one that she could feel was more reminiscent of a grimace and which was most likely not at all reassuring. Whatever—it would have to do.

He smiled back at her. "Good."

It was only after she turned back towards Mello that she registered the presence of someone else in the room.

L was standing in the now-open doorway, his posture slouched and dark, with his shadowy eyes heavily focused. Caught up by his intense expression, it took a moment for Lana to realize just where his intimidating orbs were fixated. He was staring at Matt's arm—the one that was, at the moment, tenderly gripping the young woman's shoulder. She wasn't able to pinpoint the emotion L was expressing, given his outwardly apathetic nature, but she was sure that she would not want the pale man to ever target _her_ with his eyes the way he was doing with Matt's arm. It was as if he thought of the limb as some strange anomaly, one that was all at once intriguing and distasteful.

She gulped, and turned her attention back to Matt. "Thanks, Matt." She removed her shoulder from his grip and made for the door. She swallowed as she approached the man who was guarding the room's only exit, but remained determined to meet his penetrating gaze head-on.

After all, he had no reason to look at _her_ like that.

Lana stopped in front of him when he didn't move, forcing her lips into a hard line as she met his eyes. She opened her mouth to ask him to move, but he beat her to it.

"I wasn't aware that you were going as well," he mentioned casually, though the way his mouth was engulfing the tip of his finger told a different story. She quirked her eyebrow, wondering if this was his attempt to intimidate her—like she would ever allow him the satisfaction of doing so.

So, she decided to play with him a bit.

"Oh. Well, I am. Don't worry—I'll be back later." She knew he could sense the disregard in her tone, and she also knew that he didn't appreciate it. She relented, opting to be serious once more. "Seriously, Ryuuzaki. I'm just going with Mello so I can get something. It's not a big deal."

Seeing that he still wasn't budging, she tried another, more direct, approach. "Can I get through?"

He didn't acknowledge her request, causing a vein in her forehead to throb in building anger. He was ignoring her now? Who did he think he was, not letting her leave? Did he think that, since they were working together, she was obligated to not go outside without him? If so, he was in for a rude awakening.

"Ryuuzaki, _move_, will you? We need to leave."

In retrospect, she should have realized that nothing short of an angry outburst would compel the stubborn man in front of her to move. Luckily for Lana, the visibly furious blonde behind her quickly made a move to solve the problem.

"Are you stupid?" Mello pointedly asked the detective. "_Move_," he all but hissed, while L simply stared back at him in mild interest, as if questioning what he was going to do.

Or perhaps she was not so lucky. She didn't want the two of them to start fighting—though that _would_ be interesting to watch. Sensing the impending confrontation and desperately wanting to avoid it, the dark-haired woman sighed and pushed through the door herself.

She must have taken the detective by surprise, because she managed to force her way through the door with little resistance on L's part. She felt his skin on hers as she plowed by him, the cool wisp of his t-shirt as it grazed her. She felt his shock and wonder at her tenacity as she shoved him aside. She was even able to smell him, she got so close—not that she was paying attention to those sorts of things, anyway.

She let out a constrained sigh of relief as she and Mello went through the door. The blonde headed straight for the stairs, the young woman not far behind him. She didn't turn back to look at L, and it was only after she had made her way down to the garage and sped off on Mello's bike that she allowed a single, traitorous thought to flit through her mind.

Pine needles. He had smelled of pine needles.

* * *

Exercise and physical therapy seemed to be the appropriate things to pay attention to once Lana left, L reasoned. He didn't really care to talk to anyone, and even if by some miracle he did, Matt was currently on the air as it was. He wouldn't be available until whenever he got off, and even then the only reason L had to talk to him was because of his communicator's repair. Since Mello and Lana wouldn't be back for an unknown amount of time, talking to the brunette was pointless.

On the other hand, Near was most likely either still asleep or lurking around somewhere as he usually did, searching for detached objects to piece back together or make into a strangely aesthetic structure. The boy had an affinity for puzzles and construction.

So, as L always did when he was bored and in need of action for his injured leg, he wandered. Doing so kept his mind and body occupied; it worked toward increasing the strength in his leg—which was very nearly healed—and kept his thoughts off of other, pointless things.

Such as, for example, the pair that had just left the radio station.

Although the blonde man had brought a gun for protection, L was still reasonably wary. For one thing, he had learned quite quickly from his time spent within the confines of this building that Mello was both overly emotional and often unpredictable when it came to matters of concern to him. Certain aspects of his life appeared to evoke negative reactions from the man.

And one of those aspects, L had found, was his dark-haired companion.

It was painfully obvious to the detective that the blonde was fixated on Lana, and had been almost from the beginning of their stay. However, he could also see that it wasn't entirely because of her—perhaps not at all. L had noticed that the man held a faraway, almost haunted sheen in his eyes when he looked at her, almost as if he were looking at a specter rather than the person standing in front of him. It was unnerving, and to L, only spelled more trouble. He wasn't sure if Lana had noticed it herself, but if she had, the detective could only conclude that she was either too brave or too stupid to stay away from him. It was probably a mixture of both, he compromised.

However, he was also aware that saying any of this to her as she had been trying to leave would have only resulted in a fight, and he didn't savor his current chances of surviving by himself, or even with Lana, on the streets. Besides, the woman was far too stubborn to listen to him anyway, at least when it came to matters of doing what she wanted without a logical reason for the contrary.

So he hadn't said anything, and now she was outside, breathing the same air as two of the most dangerous men he knew—B being the other, though he wasn't as worried about the serial killer. B had no reason to target Lana when she wasn't even with him, and holding her captive would only work under certain conditions, one of them being if he knew how to find him (something neither Lana nor Mello would ever give away).

It was a moot point anyway, L thought, because B would never hold her captive in order to draw him out of hiding. L had a reputation as a determined, ruthless detective, and that reputation saw to it that in all of his time he had never given up on catching a criminal for the sole purpose of saving a hostage. So, that would not be a strategy B would use. And, as L had already concluded, B had no reason to go after only Lana. B worked alone; he didn't need any forced help in his endeavors. He loathed the company of most people and would most likely only go after them with the intent to kill. And if by some coincidence he did decide to go after Lana while she was outside, Mello would surely kill him before he could get too close, even if only out of self-preservation. That much L knew about the blonde, and one shot with a bullet from that gun would be deadly, especially considering the lack of proper medical care. Of course, B wouldn't be so foolish as to approach the pair irresponsibly, so L concluded that he had little reason to feel uneasy. (On the same token, he had little reason to hope that Mello would somehow manage to kill B while he was out.)

But even so, there was still something nagging at the back of his mind, something that he was currently neglecting to face. A stray thought was gnawing at him, one that was hard to describe to himself. It was even harder to put into words, and it made him restless.

So he tried to focus on other things as he walked; he tried to piece together all of the information he had on B one more time, just to reiterate all that he'd seen and knew of the serial killer.

But it didn't work; L had long ago memorized every aspect of B's life that had been both seen firsthand and recorded by the police and other authorities. Nothing new came to light; there was no sudden burst of insight to be found and soon enough, the detective found his mind and his feet drifting to a friendly brunette.

Matt had also become something of a mystery to L, with his casually upbeat attitude and attachment to his partner. Although the man was more than friendly with L, the detective still found him somewhat off-putting. Perhaps it was the way he talked without reason, or the way he seemed to always be around at the most inopportune times, like last night. Or perhaps it was merely the way he acted around Lana, like an infatuated boy. That _was_ what he was, though—he had been that way from the beginning.

Was it because L now had verbal confirmation that Matt had, if not intentions, at least some sort of feelings for her?

He remembered how Matt had touched her right before she left, with blatant affection and concern, and a sensation similar to the one he had felt last night arose.

Was this jealousy? Was this the green-eyed monster he had read about? It seemed fitting, actually, considering that Matt had green eyes.

The pale man started when he once again came to a stop outside Lana's door.

_It seems that my legs have taken me here of their own accord_, he thought with a mental sigh. He pushed open the door, and was not surprised to see a composed Near sitting on the absent woman's bed.

The boy looked up at him as he entered, casting barely a glance in the older man's direction. A silence hung over the two, one that would come across as awkward to anyone with a more normalized worldview than the two males in the room. Surprisingly, Near was the one to break it.

"Where is Matt?" he asked casually, twirling a piece of white hair between two fingers.

In response to this tic, L slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "On the air. You may go bother him if you like, though I don't imagine he will appreciate the gesture."

If Near could look amused, L believed this is the face he would make: a perfect blank canvas, but for the barest upturn of his lips.

"I believe that is your area of expertise, isn't it, Ryuuzaki?" the boy asked.

"Hmm." A finger found its way to his lips. "What do you mean?" He was genuinely interested in what the boy was going to say—though he already had an idea of where the conversation would lead.

Near continued to absentmindedly finger his white locks, though L could see quite plainly that he was anything _but_ absentminded. "Matt is a very open, supportive person, traits that are plain to see in the way his relationship with Mello functions. He clearly cares deeply for those he considers his friends and is not shy about revealing that fact. Based on my observations, I would even venture to say that he has succeeded in befriending Lana, a person who attempts to deny the bonds she does have."

L chewed on his thumb, only slightly impressed by the deductions of the child. He had figured all of this out himself already, but was nonetheless tempted to praise the boy for his astute observations.

Here, Near tilted his head sideways, his dark eyes staring at a spot beside L's head. "You, on the other hand, are the opposite. You try to deny bonds like Lana does, like I do, but unlike her, you succeed."

"And what about you?" L wondered aloud, mildly curious about the boy's perception of himself and, if he were being honest, a bit put off by Near's confident deductions regarding him.

"…I am in the middle. I believe, with some time, that I will change. Being around people tends to have a larger impact on children than adults, who are already set in their ways for the most part. So you will continue to try to withhold any emotions you may have. That's why you will always stay distant from people, and that's why you two will grow apart."

Near stood up then, walking past an intrigued L who had not yet moved from his position. The boy's voice, passive but curious, reached back to him from the doorway.

"It's like a game between Matt and you," he said with interest. "Someone has to win eventually. There will always be a loser."

* * *

Mello sighed in exasperation and boredom as he plucked the goal of his journey off the shelf. The coil of wire was stuffed into his bag with such aggression that one would think the blonde were angry at it.

Just for good measure, he took three more coils, marveling at Matt's claim that you could never have too much of a good thing. Apparently the guy had never heard of the concept of moderation, or if he had, he had chosen to willfully ignore it. Mello suspected the latter, seeing as the guy had an atrocious smoking habit. The man could smoke a pack a day and not slow down; that was why Mello and Lana had stopped at what seemed like a million gas stations and liquor stores on the way to the Rite Aid they were currently in—the blonde really didn't want to go out looking for cigarettes again any time soon, if he could avoid it. A part of him wanted to force Matt to quit the damn habit entirely, but he knew that hell would freeze over before that would happen. The brunette had smoked since he was thirteen and had seen Pulp Fiction for the first time, and the blonde knew firsthand that old habits do, in fact, die hard.

His job done, Mello began to head for the exit rather than bother to scour the shelves for a trace of the dark-haired woman he had arrived with. She could come find him when she was ready.

_All in all_, he begrudgingly thought as he headed towards the door,_ she isn't that bad of a traveling partner. _She had apparently taken one of his quips at face value, and had kept her mouth closed for most of the trip…though, in hindsight, he realized that that was probably because she just didn't want to talk to him. And since he couldn't see her face when he had been driving, he could almost pretend that the woman behind him was…

No. _No_—he halted his thought before he could finish it, not wanting to venture into the uncharted territory of his past once again. Though it almost physically pained him to do so, he had to keep reminding himself that the scarred woman wasn't her.

She wasn't Emilia.

No matter how similar their features were, how they shared the same straight dark hair and tan skin, she wasn't her. No matter how her life held certain parallels to the other girl's, with her sibling-like relationship with Near, she wasn't her.

Emilia was gone. She was gone, and Mello knew that no amount of delusions or ridiculous hopes for things to go back to the way they were would change that.

In his frustration, the blonde kicked a rock that was sitting right outside the store's entrance, watching the piece of granite as it rolled haphazardly down the alleyway between two buildings and ricocheted off the wall. His blue eyes followed the rock's movement until it ground to a halt, and then he headed towards the bike that sat parked on the sidewalk.

But then, he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

Blue orbs wide, Mello immediately drew his gun and pointed it towards the source of movement—the alley where he had kicked the rock.

There was nothing there but the discarded chunk of earth.

But he knew that he hadn't just drawn his gun on a rock—he had already seen it stop moving. He had seen something else—it had looked almost like a shadow…

And then, another object caught his attention. He hadn't taken notice of it before, when he came outside, but he automatically knew that it hadn't been there before. His skin began to crawl, and the man tensed; he knew that he had to approach the hidden corner of the alley and get to the bottom of whatever was hiding there...

"Hey, are you ready?"

Without thinking, Mello jolted, swinging around to point his gun at the speaker behind him.

"Jesus _fuck_!" Lana exclaimed, hopping sideways out of his line of fire.

When he saw who it was, Mello lowered the gun, taking his finger off the trigger. He relaxed, though the woman in front of him was clearly not pleased by his outburst.

"What the _fuck_, Mello? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

He didn't answer the irate woman, as he was still too occupied with staring blankly at the alley. He knew he'd seen something move…

"Hello? What's up, Mello? You get hit on the head or something?" Lana waved a hand in front of his face, and he stepped aside, shaking his head as he did so.

"It's nothing," he said gruffly, turning away from the alley. "I saw a squirrel. Let's go."

Lana sighed, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "Okay. You'd better be good to drive, though."

Once the pair had seated themselves and taken off on Mello's bike, the blonde found his mind drifting back to what he had seen right before Lana had come outside and interrupted him. He could have imagined it, he supposed, but that thought came with an inkling of doubt. The more he pictured the image in his head, the more real it began to seem to him. It was unlikely, but Mello knew, he_ knew_, that he hadn't been imagining it.

He knew what he had seen.

On the ground, right beside the discarded rock, there had been a half-smoked cigarette. This in itself wasn't a cause for concern—after all, the butt could have been lying undisturbed for years. There was still the matter that he hadn't seen it when he had first come outside, but again, this wasn't a real reason for suspicion. He could have just missed it.

What had really shocked him, and made him so paranoid, was something else—and he knew his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

The cigarette had been lit.

* * *

Lana stretched her arms out behind her as soon as she got off Mello's bike, arching her back much like a cat. She had kept silent for much of the trip, but now that the pair had arrived back home with no broken bones, bruised faces, or otherwise physically damaged bodies, she was in a considerably better mood.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she called out to the blonde man as he parked and secured his vehicle. "Except for the part where you almost shot me, but I think I can move past that."

Mello scoffed at her, and she smirked as the two of them headed back into the cylindrical building. She noticed as they walked that he was taking great care not to let himself get within at least two feet of her, and he always kept ahead in terms of distance. She thought about simply picking up the pace and breezing past him, but then figured that she would only end up pissing him off more than he apparently was.

And she knew firsthand what an unpleasant person Angry Mello was.

So she stayed behind him as they traipsed up the stairs. Both of them were completely silent as they walked-that is, until Mello stepped out of the staircase and onto his floor.

"Hey," she called, stopping the man in his tracks.

He didn't turn around, though he did do her the courtesy of answering. "What?"

Lana sighed, placing one hand on her hip as she leaned against the handrail. "Look, I know we hate each other and all that, but…today didn't suck as much as I thought it would. It was a prime example of what I want our relationship to be: no fighting, no threats of violence or name-calling…well, some bickering's okay every now and then, but…truce?"

It wasn't an apology. It was a shitty make-up speech, and both of them knew it. But the blonde man didn't laugh. In fact, Mello never even turned around; as far as anyone else would have been concerned, he never even gave her a real answer.

He just walked away.

But Lana knew how rare it must have been to get anything more than a scoff or a derogatory "no" from the blonde, and so called it a victory.

She sighed in relief as she continued upstairs, feeling much better now that the day was nearly over. She had survived a day alone with Mello, and the sun was barely starting to set. The scarred woman knew that she would probably never be friendly with him, but she didn't really care about friendship. All she wanted from Mello was peace, and after today, she fervently believed that she was one step closer to achieving that.

Lana entered her room completely drained of energy, and dropped her bag in the corner. She took up a stance in the center of her empty room, noticing that she was at a perfect angle to watch the sunset through her small window.

The dark-haired woman was about to take a seat on her bed when she heard a small knock on the door. She raised an eyebrow, wondering about the identity of the gentleman who had decided he had to knock.

"Come in," she called, still standing upright.

The door creaked open to reveal a grinning Matt, who gave her a small wave. He left the door open when he stepped inside.

"Oh, hey," she called. "What's up, Matt?" She was feeling much more cheerful than she had been as of late, thanks to her "successful" excursion with Mello, and the brunette seemed to take notice of it as well.

"Nothing much," he admitted sheepishly. "I just got off the air and I saw that you guys had gotten back, so I came to say hi."

She raised an eyebrow, and her mouth tilted into a teasing smirk. "Really? You were watching Mello and I through the cameras so that you would know when to come and say hi? Isn't that a bit creepy?"

Though Lana could tell that Matt knew she was joking, the man still tried to defend himself. "Hey! I'm not creepy; I'm actually very smooth."

She rolled her eyes, turning around to stare through the window once again. "Really? I guess I didn't get the memo."

"Ouch," Matt laughed as he came to stand a bit behind her. "You really know how to hurt my feelings."

"I've had a lot of practice." She smirked, watching the sky as it began to fade to pink and orange, the colors growing and blooming like splashes of paint on a canvas. The duo stood there for a good few minutes as the sky grew darker, both of them content to keep the other silent company. They didn't say anything until the last colors began to ebb away, and then, without looking at him, Lana said, "Be honest, Matt. You didn't just come here to say hi, did you? Do you need something?"

Then, out of nowhere, she felt a light touch on her arm.

Her eyes widened as she felt Matt's presence suddenly closer than it had been before.

"Matt?" she asked in bewilderment, turning around to face the brunette. Her eyes almost bugged out of her head when she did so.

His face was a mere few inches from her own, and his bright green eyes were locked onto hers.

Despite knowing how stupid she would sound, she blurted out, "What are you doing?" In her surprise, it came out as a near-whisper. Matt smiled gently at her, a light blush adorning his cheeks. As she sat there, riveted in disbelief, he reached up with his other hand and placed the tips of his fingers on her cheek.

In a low, husky voice, he told her.

"Being smooth."

And before Lana even had a chance to respond, his lips descended on hers, capturing her mouth in a gentle kiss.

But what neither of them had seen at that moment, having been too distracted by their proximity, was the pale, dark-haired detective standing in the doorway.

* * *

**Please don't hate me for this chapter! I would just like to reiterate that this IS an L/OC fic. However, I really wanted to include this because hey, it's dramatic and I like Matt. **

**I hope you all like this chapter, and please review! **

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	17. An Opened Door

** Author's Note: I've got another one for you! Thanks to you all for being so awesome. (Just thought I'd remind you.)**

** To WildfireDreams: Indeed it will. I hope you like it :)**

** To version15: Haha, I love making you guys suffer with cliffhangers! That's how I roll. And it **_**is**_** a lot of fun to write convos between all of the Wammy Boys! I look forward to more of them.**

** To WhiteLadyDragon: I deleted the anonymous review, so it's all good. This was funny, though. I have to tell you that after I read this review, I went back and watched the music video. LOL. Thanks for that!**

** And on another note I would like to say that all the characters that survived will be reintroduced and tie together soon! **

** To animelover56348: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you seem to like my story and the way I write the canon characters. (But I'm still always nervous that I'll make them OOC somehow.) Here's another chapter for you. :)**

** To garnet86: One can only hope that L comes to his senses soon enough, right? I hope this chapter is long enough to satisfy you…hopefully…I'll try to update as soon as I can! **

** To leedleleedlelawliet: At least someone's cheering for Matt! He needs love too. And so does Mello; he's always got something bothering him, doesn't he? I do apologize if my story is causing you pain. Sometimes it gets away from me and I make it all angsty and dramatic. I like it better that way, though. :P **

** Warnings: Profanity, Mature Content. **

* * *

**Chapter 17: An Opened Door  
**

At first, Lana was so startled by the feel of Matt's lips pressing against her own that she just stood there. For a brief moment, she fell absolutely stock-still, the sensation of Matt's kiss effectively paralyzing her muscles. Apparently, the brunette interpreted her lack of pulling away from him as a sign of approval, and he took that opportunity with arms wide open.

Lana managed to come back to her senses at the precise moment in time that Matt saw fit to run his tongue across the length of her lip.

The scarred woman wasn't going to lie. The kiss felt nice; Matt was a surprisingly good kisser. As far as her ex-boyfriends went, Lana found that he was up there in the rankings in terms of skill.

Yet something didn't feel right—in fact, she realized with a curious jolt, she hardly felt anything at all.

The young woman placed her hands on Matt's shoulders, and pushed him away from her as gently as she could.

"Matt," she managed to get out as she took a breath of fresh air. "Stop." She looked into his green eyes—the ones that were usually filled with a laidback attitude were now curious…and more than a bit confused.

"What's wrong?" he asked, slight concern marring his tone.

Lana raised her eyebrows, resolving to lay down the line from here on out. He may have been a good kisser, but that didn't mean he got to do so whenever he wanted. The funny thing was, she wasn't even really mad at him for kissing her; she could have moved passed it. But there was _something_ about what Matt had done that really got to her. She told herself that it was because she just didn't want a love interest in her life. She didn't have time for it, after all.

Strangely enough, however, it wasn't the idea of a relationship that was causing Lana's body to fill with annoyance and anger. It was something different—something that she couldn't quite put her finger on…

…But that all went out the window as soon as Lana caught sight of the open doorway.

To the scarred woman's complete and utter horror, L was staring at the two of them with a rather intense expression. Staring, of course, at the two people who were currently still in a suggestive embrace.

Lana had never moved so fast in her life. She took a large step backwards, effectively breaking any contact she had with the brunette. At first, all was silent as Matt turned around and caught sight of L as well; he made a sheepish expression in response. As the dark-haired woman assessed the situation and tried to come up with a plausible way of reducing the tension, she soon realized that this was a lost cause. Really, there was no possible way for it to get any more awkward, so Lana did the only thing she could think of when involved in nasty moments such as these.

She completely ignored the issue.

"This is probably going to be awkward no matter what I say," she began, immediately catching the attention of both males in the room. "So I'm only going to say this once." She paused a moment, allowing the both of them to take time to digest her words.

She was more than willing to bet that they were not what either L or Matt had expected.

"Let's just forget this ever happened," she continued on. "Okay? Forget everything that happened in this room today. Don't talk to me about it again, don't talk to each other about it, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to Mello or Near about it."

After her speech, Lana took a moment to survey both men's faces. Matt was frowning at her, for once utterly silent, while L simply had his finger between his teeth as he always did when attempting to think deeply about something.

"But—" Matt started, but fell silent as Lana raised her hand in a gesture of dismissal. It may have been rude, but she knew it often did the trick in getting someone to stop talking. She had used it on her little brother countless times.

"Come on, Matt," she said more firmly, looking him in the eye. "I don't want any drama, and that's exactly what I'll get if Mello finds out. He hates me enough as it is; I don't want to add the fact that I'm doing his best friend to the list. Aside from that, I already…" _I already fucked up by letting L see that..._

Lana didn't know where that last thought came from, but she was sure that she didn't want to go down that road—or any sort of road, really—any time soon.

"I see," L said in a thoughtful voice as he scrutinized her. She looked towards the pale man, noting the stiffness in his posture that most definitely had not always been there. He almost seemed as though he were in some kind of distress, but was attempting to hold himself together. Yet even with this strange turn of events, the young woman felt compelled to answer him.

"You see what?"

L cocked his head at her, coming across as vaguely owlish to the dark-haired woman. "I see that you are clearly much more emotionally vulnerable than I thought initially."

First, Lana blinked. Next, she analyzed his words. Then, she realized what he had just said.

And finally, she became angry.

"Piss off," she spat at L, saying nothing more before she stormed out of the room. She even ignored Matt's protests.

Technically, she shouldn't have had to leave; it was her room, after all. Both Matt and Mello had agreed to it. However, rather than kick the two of them out, Lana had the sudden urge to leave the place entirely. Not the station itself, of course; she just really needed to go find another room to hang out in for a while. She needed to think this through, and figure out just what to say to L and Matt the next time she saw them.

And, above all else, she needed to figure out why the hell she even cared.

* * *

Being the genius that he was, L was easily able to figure out the point at which a situation became awkward for all of those involved. However, that did _not_ mean that the pale detective had the good sense—or cowardice, as he referred to it—to remove himself from such an occasion when the tension became unbearable by the standards of most. Simply put, L had no shame, at least not to the level that most people did; even though he knew that Lana was right in leaving, it was not in his nature to walk out in the middle of an uncomfortable moment.

_She is right,_ he thought to himself as he stood there, locked in what was quickly morphing into a bizarre staring contest with Matt. This would be highly discomforting—primarily for the brunette, though, since L was very adept at controlling the outward flow of his emotions. No matter what was spoken, he would be able to keep his head. He thought this even as the brunette's attempt to break the tension only ended up enhancing it.

"So," Matt began, his hands hidden in the pockets of the vest he was wearing over his long-sleeved shirt. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ryuuzaki. I know it must have been weird, but you didn't have to say that to Lana. You only pissed her off."

L nodded, silently agreeing with the young man. "Yes. I would say that it was an extremely uncomfortable moment for all involved, particularly her, and being honest only seemed to make it worse."

Matt's eyes took on a calculating gleam. "What do you mean?"

"I recommend that you don't try doing that again. As Lana already said, it would be best if we both forgot that it ever happened at all."

The younger man looked taken aback, but he quickly retained his usual fire. "Hold up!" he objected. "I get that you're protective of her—I really do. You guys are partners in this, like Mello and I, so you've known her longer than I have. But this isn't your call to make, Ryuuzaki. It's hers."

L cast his dark eyes on the wall as he pondered Matt's speech. "And I understand your point of view as well, Matt. What you're saying is that bonding with other humans is important to many people. I would guess that you haven't seen a woman your age in a long time, correct?"

Matt's brows furrowed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, I imagine that not having intercourse with a woman for an extended period of time would be quite stressful for an able-bodied male, so I can understand why you are attracted to Lana."

Matt's face broke out in red. A deep, splotchy red not of embarrassment, but of annoyance. "That's not what this is! And even if it were, what about you? Aren't you a man, too?"

"I, on the other hand, am different than most able-bodied males. But okay—let's assume, for the sake of the argument, that you actually_ do_ have an interest in my companion beyond actions that are sexual in nature. You may believe the circumstances are permissive of a relationship, but I can assure you that this is not the case." He paused a moment to let his words sink in. "Lana and I are involved in something highly dangerous; we are trying to catch someone who is a possible threat to the entire world. At this time, neither she nor I can afford to have emotional connections to anyone. Personal relationships in cases such as these are taxing and distract from one's overall goal. Furthermore, they can end up costing you your life. As it is, I need Lana to remain detached from anyone else. I cannot afford to have the people who are working under me be distracted by trivial things."

"Trivial things?" Matt repeated in disbelief.

"Yes."

The entire time that L was speaking, the pale man had noticed that Matt was becoming more and more wide-eyed as he started to fully comprehend what the detective was saying. "So you're telling me that I should stay away from Lana because you don't want her making a connection and being held back by it?"

"Essentially."

"And you've decided that you're going to tell me all of this without her knowledge or her consent?"

"That's correct."

The brunette took a moment to reflect on that before delving into his own point of view.

"That's crap."

L raised a brow. He had reasoned that the other man would say something along those lines. Still, he decided that humoring the man wouldn't do any harm—and, if he were being perfectly honest, he was still intrigued by Matt's philosophy.

"It's true that having people in your life that you care about can be distracting and take up a lot of your time," the brunette acquiesced, "but they can also be the most important thing you have. I know for a fact that if I didn't have Mello with me, I would've died a long time ago. And Mello would probably have killed himself, along with everyone else in this city." Matt chuckled a bit at that last line, and L found himself silently agreeing.

The younger man turned around then, catching a glimpse of the stars through the dim square pane of glass that made up Lana's window. Without the overuse of cars and artificial city lights, the tiny specks of light could be seen much more clearly than they used to be. "How many artists and musicians have there been who were motivated by a loved one or a muse? Relationships with others are what keep us going when things get shitty. I mean_ really _shitty. Talking to people, collaborating—that's how problems get solved, isn't it? You're a really bright guy, Ryuuzaki—much smarter than me—so I know that you have to understand what I'm talking about."

L nodded. "Indeed I do—to an extent. I, for one, function very well on my own, and I will not allow this case to be compromised by your unrequited infatuation with my partner."

The tips of Matt's ears turned pink at that. "That's not down to you! _Lana_ needs to be the one telling me this."

"She has already explained that she does not wish to discuss this matter any further. What else is there to determine?"

The brunette shook his head. "You really don't understand what either you _or _her are feeling, do you?" he asked sadly.

L nibbled lightly on his finger. "I would say that I know her better than anyone else here."

"That I won't argue with. I think you understand her emotions and her personality fairly well—better than I do, at least. So really, there's only one thing that you're missing. And you can't see it, because neither can she." L waited, content with the silence until Matt sighed sadly.

"I messed up," he said in a drawn voice. "Well, it happens, I guess. I didn't realize what was going on the last time we ran into each other. I thought you two were just a pair of overbearing traveling partners."

"If not that," L said with a curious gleam in his eye, "then what are we?"

Matt gave the pale man a sad smile—but one that was also filled with the barest amount of mischief. "I guess you'll have to ask her that on your own, eh, Ryuuzaki?" With a sideways glance, the other man left L alone to his thoughts—but not before imparting one last piece of advice.

"If you need help figuring it out, think about the real reason why you just told me to stay away from Lana. That'll do it—she's the only person who can give you an answer."

The only sound L heard after that was the solid click of the door being shut.

_Hmmm…the real reason why I told him to stay away from Lana?_ It was an interesting theory, L reasoned, even if the detective already knew exactly what Matt had meant by it—and even if he already knew that it was completely and utterly ridiculous.

_He means to tell me that I said all of that because I am jealous of him_. The dark man supposed it made sense from Matt's perspective. After all, L was the man who was most involved in Lana's life right now; she was closer to him that Matt. Of course, the way that both Near and Matt had spoken had made it seem as though that were no longer the case—or it wouldn't be in the near future. That idea may have elicited a strange sort of spark within his chest, but that didn't mean that it was controlling him.

That didn't mean that L told Matt not to get involved with the dark-haired woman just _because_ he was jealous. As far as L was concerned, he was correct in what he had said to Matt: romantic relationships were poison to a rational mind. Lana would not be at her epitome of functioning if she were to become involved with Matt.

So what was so awful, L wondered, about stating the truth? Matt had no place to be talking to him as though he knew more, as if he understood the situation better…

And that was when L realized, wholly and suddenly, that he was angry. With Matt, with Lana, and, most of all, with himself. He was angry with Matt for accusing him of jealous spite (though he himself had been pondering the emotion as of late) and for thinking that he better understood what was going on. He was angry with Lana for being so foolish, and for not avoiding the brunette as she should have been while knowing full well how Matt felt about her.

But above all else, L was angry with himself: for getting into this situation in the first place, and for allowing himself to be influenced by the thoughts and emotions of others—Lana in particular.

And most of all, L was angry with himself because, no matter how hard he tried to do otherwise, he just couldn't bring himself to regret having met her.

* * *

Anger. It was the most prominent emotion the bronze-haired man could feel right now, but even that was kept closely under wraps. If anyone looked at Light Yagami, all they would see was a man who was composed, with no traces of emotional turmoil or distress to speak of. That was the way he preferred to keep things, and it almost always worked in his favor; the angrier he got, the more composed he became in kind. People thought they understood how he worked; they were wrong. And in this way, he ensured that no one was made aware of his true feelings—even his closest allies.

For all intents and purposes, he was a man of his word, as his father had been before him (though that thought is uttered with mirthful scorn), dedicated to those whom he had seen fit to protect. "Fit to protect" really means that they are of some use to him, and his dedication to them was conditional, hinging on whether or not the person in question had outlived their usefulness. So far, Takada had remained somewhat beneficial, as it was dangerous to wander these streets alone. He didn't like the fact that he had to share his supplies with her, but it had to be done. For Takada's existence, Light found himself begrudgingly grateful—for now, at least.

However, he knew it would be much more convenient if he had a few more able-bodied people under his command.

The composed man finished buttoning up one of the shirts he had found in the apartment that he and Takada were staying in, sighing as he ran a hand through his abnormally greasy hair. Unfortunately, he had not found the time necessary to grab all of the water he had stashed in his room in the aftermath of the explosion at Waterfront, and so was now reduced to using what he did have strictly for purposes of refreshment, rather than bathing.

Oh, well. Light supposed that he was willing to put up with a few minor setbacks for now. He had survived the explosion—and the wrath of the person who had caused it, because Light knew that there was _no way_ an inactive building could explode without some sort of outside catalyst.

But going through all of this would be worth it later on, once he had gotten off of this godforsaken continent.

In order to do that, however, he would need all the help he could get—and Takada, although useful to some extent, was not cutting it. They were getting nowhere slowly in their hunt for the detective who called himself Ryuuzaki—the man who was an associate of Naomi Misora.

Immediately after the explosion, as he and Takada had stumbled out of the building, they had come across a kneeling Misa and Matsuda, who were crouched on the street. No one else had been around, and Light had been intrigued when Takada had gone up to the short blonde girl and started grilling her about the man named Ryuuzaki.

Apparently, Takada had arrived downstairs next to the supply closet immediately before the explosion had occurred, and had caught the tail end of Naomi and Ryuuzaki's confrontation. And once she had probed and prodded Misa until the girl was nearly blind with rage and tears, she had gotten her to divulge the fact that the shaggy-haired man had chased after Emerson when she had gone upstairs, but that the two of them had run out of the building soon after.

"_Dammit_," Takada had said. "_I must have just missed them when they ran upstairs—I went up to go find you after the explosion. Thank God you had those gas masks, Light, or we wouldn't have survived_."

"Light," a feminine voice came from the doorway. Light turned around, only to be surprised by the sight of Takada—as well as the gun she was holding in her hand. The gun that was currently being pointed, not at him, but at the stiff, nervous man standing in front of her.

Light raised an eyebrow. "Who is this, Takada?" He took a moment to look the man over. He was pale, with dark, shaggy hair and glasses befitting a seventh-grade science teacher. Even through the thick lenses, Light could make out the markings of a blood-red welt on his cheek, as though he had been hit there. Though his posture was rigid and clearly anxious, his expression projected an utter lack of fear and perhaps even a bit of self-righteousness. Light narrowed his hazel eyes at the peculiar man.

"This is Teru Mikami," Takada said, her eyes roving over her captive. "I was out scouting for food just now, and I found him hovering behind a dumpster across the street from a Rite Aid."

"And why, Takada, did you take him hostage?" Although Light's fists clenched, he would allow her the opportunity to explain her situation.

"I hid my rucksack underneath the dumpster before I went searching, and when I came back he was rifling through it. That's why I hit him with the gun."

At that moment, the bleeding man decided to interject. "I thought you had thrown it away. Believe me, had I been aware that you were going to return for it, I wouldn't have attempted to take your things. Thieves are some of the worst scum—"

"Mikami," Light said quietly, causing the man to go silent instantly. He returned his gaze to Takada. "That doesn't explain why you took him with you."

"I wasn't done explaining," she said haughtily, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. "When I asked what he had been doing, he told me that he had seen two people coming out of the Rite Aid—a blonde man dressed in black, and a dark-haired woman with a large scar on her face."

Light's eyes widened. "A large scar? Was it over her right eye?" he asked of Mikami, who nodded hesitantly in response.

"Yes. It was a bit far away, but one of her eyes looked paler than the other as well. She had quite a mouth on her, too. Very rude language."

Light knew, without a doubt, that it had been Emerson. A new sense of purpose and action lit up his being—a new opportunity had shown itself. Takada was more useful than he had realized.

"This is perfect," Takada said confidently. "Not only can we get her out of the picture, but she'll lead us right to Naomi Misora's associate. I must say, that Misa girl was much more useful than I had originally thought. She does have a very big mouth. And now, this man here can help us as well." She gestured to Mikami, who stood stock-still.

"Be careful, Takada," Light warned. "Misa may have told us that they left together, but we don't know for certain if he's still with her. Mikami did say that she was with a blonde man."

"That's true, but they could be staying at another safehouse," Takada reasoned. "People hardly travel in pairs nowadays, if they can avoid it. Perhaps they've found a group."

Light smiled—but it was an eerie smile. "That's exactly what I was thinking. It only makes sense, after all, and Ryuuzaki is clearly intelligent."

"But not nearly as intelligent as we are together," Takada proclaimed proudly. "Though I do wish you would stop testing me in these situations. We're together in this, right, Light?"

"Of course, Takada," Light reassured her. "Of course."

The woman smiled at him. "Then we will win against Ryuuzaki. After all, he has no chance of beating out a Yagami."

Both Light and Takada took note of Mikami's widening eyes, their hugeness only being accentuated by the man's large glasses.

"Did you say Yagami?" he demanded eagerly. "As in Light Yagami, the chief of the LAPD?"

Light pursed his lips into a tight, confident line before answering. "Yes," he said blandly, then watched, with some interest, as Mikami's eyes seemed to suddenly fill with stars.

"I-I had no idea. I'm honored to be in your presence! Both you and your father, Surgeon General Soichiro Yagami, have unparalleled senses of justice and devotion to the human race. I kept track of every case you solved." The man stopped talking out of nowhere, his eyes shimmering with a gleam of hope. "If I may be so bold, I must ask…earlier, you said that you were trying to track someone down, didn't you? The woman with the scar and a man called Ryuuzaki?"

Light nodded, a bit taken aback by the man's staggering devotion. The part about his father grated on his nerves a bit, but he managed to keep his flare of anger in check.

At Light's nonverbal cue, Mikami grinned. "I have seen the blonde man before, when I was searching for something to eat. He drives a motorcycle and lives in a radio station—though I've only ever seen it from a distance."

"So that was what I heard," Takada whispered. "I thought I heard a sound like a motorcycle…"

"He carries a shotgun," Mikami continued, "so I didn't want to get too close. But if you'll permit me, I'll lead you there. Even if Ryuuzaki isn't at the radio station, you'll still be able to find his partner, and she will know more about his whereabouts than anyone else."

And suddenly, Light found himself smiling broadly at this man; this man whom he knew almost nothing about. He knew hardly anything about Mikami, but he did know that the man almost seemed to revere him as someone going beyond even the concept of a role model. He didn't know how or why, but somehow the bronze-haired man knew that Mikami wasn't simply pulling his leg or sucking up to him so that he could get away. It was obvious to Light that the man was trying to win his favor, but this didn't bother the immaculate man. He preferred to have that sort of attitude in an underling, actually. Mikami was vastly different from Takada, who was constantly seeking his affection and equality within their pair, and Misa, who simply craved his love and attention and would stop at nothing to get it. (He couldn't feel bad for what he'd done to her; he hadn't forced her to do it. She had chosen all on her own.)

No, Mikami didn't want love, or affection, or equality. What this man wanted, pure and simple, was to serve Light's interests because he saw them as an extension of his own. In his mind, Light was the chief of police, always in the moral right. He wasn't even going to question the actions of those he had offered to track down, because Light himself was after them. And best of all, he expected nothing in return.

And for that, Light was truly thankful. "That would be a great help, Mikami," he said in his most appreciative voice. "Do you think we can start searching right away? I don't want to waste any time—and I'll personally see to it that Takada will stop pointing guns at you." He added that last part in with a small chuckle, effectively perpetuating the illusion of a socially and morally responsible public figure.

The other man smiled in evident pleasure. "Anything you wish, Yagami-sama."

* * *

By the time morning rolled around, Lana had begun to believe that it was too much of an effort to try to appease people all the time. The more she had tried to think of what to say to L and Matt, the more belligerent and speechless she had become. She began to grow infuriated that she even had to do so in the first place. She knew that she had agreed to tone down her outbursts of rage while staying under Matt and Mello's roof, but L had never specified that she couldn't go medieval on _his_ ass. Not literally, of course…

But even with this tempting knowledge fresh in her mind, Lana knew that she wasn't going to say anything to the pale man who had so gotten on her nerves the last time she had seen him. Her plan was simple, and consisted of her ignoring him for the time being—or until they had to leave the radio station. It wasn't because he had seen her kissing Matt—or, more accurately, it wasn't because he had seen _Matt_ kissing _her_.

_Hell no!_ she thought indignantly. It wasn't as though Lana was embarrassed by the events of last night or anything, or that she was afraid of what L might say…Well, she _was_ afraid of what he might say, but not because his opinion meant anything to her. It was because…well, what if the others found out?

That excuse sounded lame even to her ears.

_I'm too old for this shit,_ she thought with bitterly resigned fury as she stepped into Matt's studio. She took a deep breath as she entered, spying the copper-haired guy sitting at his desk almost immediately. He was sitting right beside the doorway, as he had been when she first met him, and when she followed his eyes she saw that he was looking at the various security camera screens he had set up.

Right. She was going to act normal.

But that was a little hard to do when both L and Near were sitting on the couch, with both their sets of dark, calculating eyes on her.

So because Matt's eyes were somewhat more preferable to be stared at with (though it was still way out of her comfort zone), Lana settled for hovering over his shoulder to watch the camera screens.

So far, after a few minutes, nothing was happening on the makeshift televisions. The real world was still boring most of the time, and Lana found that she was infinitely more comfortable with that. Unfortunately for her, however, her life had a knack of bombarding her with a series of misfortunate circumstances.

"Lana," L drawled out from behind her. She ignored him, pretending that she was absorbed in the endless nothingness that was the security footage, even if it was impossible to be entertained by such nonsense. Even Matt had been playing his Gameboy under the table.

Still, the man persisted.

"On the topic of last night—"

"Ryuuzaki," she said as she whipped around to stare at him. "Not now." With shaking fists, she stared down the pale detective, trying to use her eyes to beam into his mind the message that she wanted no part in this conversation. Couldn't he just take a damn hint and drop the subject?

Just as L looked ready to respond, another voice interrupted him.

"Mello!" Matt called out, his eyes angled back up at the security cameras. His words held a sense of urgency that caused Mello, wherever it was that he had been, to burst into the room not even ten seconds after Matt had spoken.

"What is it?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"The front doors," Matt told him, pointing to one of the small screens. Lana's eye followed his finger as well, and she stiffened. One of the cameras was positioned with an above-head view of the very same doors Lana and Near had walked through their first time here. From the camera's angle, the young woman could clearly see the silhouette of a person standing in front of the locked doors, their face hidden by a black hoodie and a scarf. Whoever it was had every patch of skin hidden by clothing—even his or her hands were swathed in a pair of gloves.

"Who the hell is that?" Mello snapped irritably, his hand twitching automatically towards his gun.

Lana frowned as well; who was this person? What were they doing—trying to get into the building? _But they aren't even touching the doors,_ she thought in stark confusion. She watched with even more trepidation as the person raised a gloved hand to push on the door. When the doors didn't budge, courtesy of Matt, they let out a hefty sigh.

"Dammit," an annoyed voice muttered in a whisper. "Guess I'll hafta do this the other way."

At that, Lana's ears perked up.

"Hey, you guys in there! Wanna open the door for me? I dunno if ya can hear me, but I know yer in there, girly!"

Lana's face paled, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to contain her gasp.

It was impossible. The dark-haired woman knew that her ears had to be deceiving her.

"The hell?" Mello muttered. "That's it. I'm going down there. This woman needs to leave right now. She's probably infected."

"C'mon, man! It's hot as balls out here!" the woman yelled from the screen, and Lana found her resolve cracking. It couldn't be…

But the more she looked at the person's profile, the more evidence she found to prove her instinct. She wasn't entirely certain of her state of mind, but she knew that these were not the inane ramblings of an infected person. She could even swear that she saw one curl of knappy hair peeking out from underneath the woman's hood…there was no doubt about it.

"Itzel," Lana breathed out.

* * *

**Hee hee. How many people thought that Itzel was actually dead? I planned this from the beginning, and I'm glad I've finally gotten around to writing it! And Light and Takada are back in the game, as well as Mikami! Mikami's a weird dude. I'll try to keep him in character, which is basically just a guy who thinks that Light is God and has a very strong sense of justice, to the point of obsession. I'm sticking with that platform. **

**Until next time! Please review and let me know if you like this chapter or not. It'll help with my writing :)**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	18. Alcoholic Blues

**Author's Note: It's nice to see you guys again! Unfortunately, I'm going on vacation in a few days and will be gone for a week, so that means I won't be able to write. I suppose I'll try, if I have time on the train or in the hotel rooms. (I'm going to be walking a lot.) But either way, I'll probably be late in updating. I hope you guys can stay patient until then. :) Portland, here I come!**

**To leedleleedlelawliet: Haha! I was waiting for a perfect opportunity to reintroduce Itzel, and I'm glad it turned out this way. I think it ties in perfectly with everything (love triangle included). I even made myself sad while I was writing this. :(**

**And indeed, Beyond **_**is**_** sick and twisted. **

**To WildfireDreams: I'm happy too; I missed Itzel! **

**To version15: Cliffhangers are kinda my thing. Sorry :( I'm excited to be bringing all the characters back in (along with some new ones as well, like Mikami). Things are definitely going to be coming to a head soon. **

**To garnet86: L and Lana can be pretty stupid sometimes, even if they don't realize it. They definitely both notice that things have changed between them, though. Things are going to be pretty tense, I would think.**

**Warnings: Profanity, Alcohol Consumption/Abuse, Mature Content.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: Alcoholic Blues**

"Stop!" Lana boomed as she dove forward, catching Mello's arm in a wrought-iron grip.

The blonde, having been caught unsuspectingly, stumbled backwards a bit, but he quickly regained his footing. His ever-present rage also returned post haste as well, to Lana's misfortune.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" he spat at the young woman, shaking his arm out of her tight grip with mild difficulty. "Let go of me."

"Sorry," she deadpanned automatically, her attention not focused on the blonde at all, but rather on the screen on Matt's desk. "It's just that…I know her."

Mello looked suitably confused by her admission, then disbelieving. "You know her? Are you sure?"

"Yes!" the scarred woman said insistently. "I spent every day with her for seven years. Let her in. She's fine; she won't hurt us or steal from us or anything."

Mello stared at the woman as though she were crazy. "What if she's infected? She's acting…weird."

Lana sighed in exasperation and embarrassment on Itzel's part. "That's just how she is. Trust me. She knows I'm in here already, that's why she's yelling at the door. Please, Matt," she began to plead with the brunette seated in front of her. "Will you just let her into the lobby? Ask her anything you want. Itzel's trustworthy—I promise."

She meant every word of it. After all, the Hispanic woman had been with Lana through thick and thin, throughout all of their time at Waterfront. She had helped her when she had no water, talked to her when she felt like shit (which had been most of the time), and even saved her life on multiple occasions. God only knew how she had managed to survive that explosion. So now, more than ever before, Lana wanted to see her friend again. This determination must have shown in her eyes, because Matt only gave her a small smile before pressing one of the large buttons on his keyboard.

On the screen, the thick glass doors slid open, allowing the large woman to enter. Without asking for permission, Lana grabbed the plastic microphone that was clipped into the desktop.

"Itzel?" the tan woman asked hesitantly. On the camera, Itzel jumped slightly, surprised by the sudden sound of Lana's voice.

"Girly?" she called out in response. "Is that you?"

The young woman laughed lightly. "Yeah. It's…good to see you again, Itzel." Man, that sounded lame, but her throat closed up the next second as the woman on screen shot her a characteristically snarky smile.

"I wish I could say the same," the biracial woman observed, her eyes roving around the room in search of the source of Lana's voice. "Where are ya, anyway?"

Before Lana could respond, the microphone had been all but ripped out of her grasp by Mello.

"Are you infected?" the blonde asked forcefully, not even bothering to introduce himself.

Itzel's brows furrowed at the sudden change in speaker. "Uh, no. I've been wearin' this getup every damn time I go out just to make sure. Good enough for ya?"

The blonde snarled at Itzel's brusque dismissal, but conceded nonetheless. "Do you have any food or water?" he asked this time, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Just what I've got in my pockets. There's more where that came from, though. Lemme guess—you're that blondie from the Rite Aid? You sure got a temper."

Mello's eyes were the size of golf balls. "What are you talking about?" Then, a moment later, in a voice laced with pure fury, he added, "Wait a minute! _You _were that person hiding in the alley?"

"Yep. I ain't ashamed to say I tracked you guys all the way here."

While Mello's jaw tightened, Matt took the microphone from him. "Itzel's your name, right?"

"Sure is."

Matt smirked. "Well, I don't know you, but welcome to the station."

"It's about damn time!"

* * *

Lana was fully unprepared for what happened as soon as Itzel burst into the room. Utterly in shock, the scarred woman at first felt as though time had frozen. Laying one's eyes on the friend that they had presumed dead tended to do that to people.

Though Itzel's clothes were different, she looked much the same underneath the hood; she was still all knappy hair and huge dark eyes, with the usual mischievous spark in her irises.

And then Lana felt herself being bear-hugged by the large woman. All the air was knocked out of her lungs as Itzel practically tackled her, paying no mind to the close proximity of L, Matt, or Mello. She released an _Oomph!_ of discomfort as she felt herself being squeezed just a bit too hard, and was too shocked to reciprocate the embrace.

"Hey there, girly. Long time no see, eh?" Itzel teased heartily after releasing the taller woman.

"Itzel…" Lana whispered, finding herself at a loss for words.

"Excuse me," said a masculine voice.

Lana turned her head to find that L had moved closer, and now stood far too close to her for her liking.

_Oh, God. Not now!_ At the precise moment she didn't want to talk to him, he had to suddenly thrust himself into her reunion with her best friend? She wondered if L could sense her animosity, or if he simply didn't care. In any case, he began to speak to Itzel himself.

"You must be the woman who asked me to save your friend, correct?"

Itzel looked confused for a moment before something seemed to dawn on her. "Oh! You're that dude from Waterfront?" L nodded, and the robust woman gave him a slap on the shoulder, to which he responded with a wide-eyed gaze at the place where he'd been hit. "Well, there's no hard feelings, if that's what yer worried about. I managed to escape through the window. Had to rip out a shitload of boards, but I did it. I'm just glad ya saved Emerson."

Lana paled upon hearing her pseudonym and middle name. What would Itzel think when she found out that she had been lying about her name for seven whole years? Neither Matt nor L had a good filter; she was bound to find out eventually.

_It's better_, Lana thought, _to get it out of the way right now_.

"Actually, Itzel…" she started, gaining the other woman's attention. "I go by Lana now."

As she had expected, Itzel was befuddled. "Lana?" she asked, the name sounding foreign on her tongue. "What for?"

"It's my real name," the young woman admitted sheepishly. "I'm just Lana." Without realizing it, the dark-haired woman's gaze fell on the detective standing beside her. His eyes settled on her as well, heavy and smothering like an old blanket. She laughed internally at the ironic perfection of this moment.

Yes, ever since she had met L and begun this bizarre adventure to find B, she had been just Lana. Not Emerson, or Em, or any of the other hardened personas she had tried to shove herself into for the sake of survival in this new world.

Just Lana.

And once again, all of the subtle changes that she had been noticing for the past few weeks hit her full-force as she basked in the unforeseen presence of this person from her past. For the first time, the dark-haired woman fully grasped how much she had changed in such a short time. She wondered idly if Itzel could sense it as well; surely she would be able to, having known Lana far longer than any other living person had.

Apparently, the scarred woman noticed after a short moment, she could—and the Hispanic woman promptly acted on her instincts.

"Hey, guys," she addressed all of the males in the room with her commanding voice, "could ya leave…_Lana_ and I alone together for a second?"

Mello's eyes narrowed at her request. "Why?"

"Woman stuff," Itzel snapped, glaring daggers at the blonde. "Now beat it."

All three of the men, as well as Near, looked equally hesitant to do so. However, they obeyed what Itzel said regardless, slinking out of the room and shutting the door with an echoing _click_. In particular, L seemed to hesitate the most in leaving, his eyes alight and lingering on Lana's face as she tried to ignore his heated stare. She knew he still wanted to talk about what had happened last night, and she would do everything in her power to avoid him until that urge wore off.

Even if it killed her to do so.

"So," the brusque woman said as soon as they were alone. "Lana, huh? Ya never told me that was yer real name."

A wave of guilt washed over the younger woman, but Itzel held up a hand to halt Lana's verbal apologies.

"It's fine," she assured the dark-haired woman. "S'not like it's a big deal or anything, girly. I'll call ya whatever the hell you want."

The scarred woman frowned in confusion. "So…why did you just send all of them out of the room, then? I thought you wanted to talk to me about something."

"Oh, yeah," the large woman agreed. "It's just something I noticed about ya when I first came in." She sat down in Matt's chair, swiveling around in it so that she was facing Lana while leaning forward on the back of the chair. An amused smirk lit up her face, one that made the scarred woman inherently suspicious of Itzel's intentions.

"What is it?" she asked regardless, already regretting buying into her friend's bait.

"I was just wondering…which one a those boys are ya in love with?"

There was nothing in Lana's mouth at the moment, thank God, so she ended up merely choking on the air in her lungs. After regaining her breath, she stared daggers at the person whom she knew would _never_ say something so ridiculously absurd.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded harshly. "I'm not in love with anyone!"

Itzel put her hands up in a gesture of surrender, but the smirk didn't leave her face. "Alrighty, maybe you aren't in love, but there's something goin' on with one of 'em. Don't tell me—it's that guy that saved ya, isn't it?"

Lana felt her cheeks practically burst into flames. "It's Ryuuzaki. And _no_," she spit out from between her clenched teeth, though this didn't do anything to deter Itzel in the slightest—not that she'd expected it to, anyway. "Where did you get that idea?"

The Hispanic woman rolled her eyes. "Are ya kiddin' me? Yer eyes were practically glued to that dude. And he was even worse, lookin' at ya whenever you glanced away for even a second. Those bug eyes give me the creeps. I almost couldn't tell if he wanted to jump yer bones or kill ya—though I'd bet all _my_ money on the first one."

"Hmph."

Itzel cackled in that peculiar way of hers. "Big talker, as always, eh, girly? So, have ya?"

Lana ventured a sideways glance at her friend out of the corner of her eye. "Have I what?"

"Had sex with 'im?"

The scarred woman almost had another coughing fit. Her and _L_? That would never happen! First of all, Lana had a hard time believing that the man had even been with a woman before. (Or a man, for that matter.) He would hardly be a passionate lover. He was withdrawn, and peculiar, and quirky in the most ludicrous of ways; his mannerisms would have sent any other woman running for the hills.

But then…he was also intelligent, and dependable, and he had saved her life even while knowing that the only assets she had to offer him were her knowledge of the area and her physical strength. And besides, what did she have that made her so much better than him? She was also withdrawn, and Lana accepted the fact that she was often difficult to deal with. Really, did she have any leverage with which to judge L?

And, now that she thought about it, was he really all that bad? Sure, he had his moments. He frequently brought things up that she would rather forget, and he was constantly infringing upon her personal space…but she found that she had grown to rather like those things about him; or, if she didn't like them, she had accepted them. He was infuriating, but also patient and rational. He accommodated her outbursts and reeled her in when she wanted to bite someone's head off. (Mello's, more often than not.)

But to have sex with him…her cheeks colored at the thought.

And this reaction, she should have realized right away, couldn't have been a good sign.

"No, I haven't," she muttered under her breath, refusing to meet Itzel's eyes. "And I don't want to."

The woman didn't respond for a while, but then a grin broke out on her face. "You may've changed a lot, girly," she said with a snicker, "but yer still the worst liar I've ever set my eyes on."

"Well, you can't expect me to be perfect," the scarred woman mumbled sarcastically, the smile at the corners of her mouth betraying her lack of serious anger at her friend.

At this point, Itzel decided to change the subject; evidently, she had grown tired of tormenting Lana further. "Really though, girly…ya seem different. Real different. There's this dumb look on yer face whenever yer not payin' attention."

"Like what?" the younger woman asked curiously.

Itzel smiled back at her. "Like ya just got back from a long trip."

Lana snorted, the serious expression on her face gone now that she had heard Itzel's anticlimactic speech. "Wow. Good one, Itzel. You're a riot."

"Ya think I'm joking? I'm older and wiser than ya. You should try listenin' to me fer once."

"Yeah, yeah," Lana said, waving her hand dismissively. "You keep sitting over there talking about love and shit while I live over here in reality."

_Smack_. Before Lana had time to even process what was happening, a familiarly calloused hand slapped her upside the head. She even saw stars for a moment from the sheer strength of the hit, and she cursed the movements of the walls before turning around to see a sadistically grinning Itzel.

"What the hell?" she yelled, rubbing the side of her head.

"Don't be bitchy, Emerson," the biracial woman demanded, lapsing back into the habit of calling her by her middle name. The crease in her forehead betrayed her frustration. "Sorry if anything I said pissed ya off, but it's kinda my job to say it. If it weren't fer me ya never woulda faced any of yer problems. You were always really good at makin' yerself miserable, girly."

Lana sighed in resignation. "Even if that's true, what's your point?"

An evil grin stretched across the other woman's face, and she patted her stomach. To the scarred woman's surprise, rather than the dull thud of smacking flesh, she heard instead the hollow slapping sound of skin on glass.

She raised her eyebrows. "What's under your hoodie, Itzel?" she asked worriedly. Why would her friend be hiding something from her and the others?

"Nothin'," she said. "Just somethin' that'll loosen ya up a bit. Ya need to relax and stop thinking so hard about all this Ryuuzaki bullshit, and I'm gonna help ya do that."

Lana rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "What did you do, Itzel?"

"Oh, nothin'."

From underneath her hoodie, the large woman pulled out a bottle. But not just any bottle—this one was tall and slender, full of a deep amber liquid and stamped with a label that read _Jose Cuervo_.

"We might wanna start drinkin' this, though. I usually keep a bottle strapped to my clothes when I go out, and I can tell that ya need it."

Lana's first instinct was to grab the bottle of tequila and break it over someone's head. (Namely, a certain someone with bags under his eyes, as revenge for causing her so much turmoil.) Her second was to rip it out of Itzel's hands, unscrew the cap, and pour half of the golden liquor down her throat in an ill-disguised attempt to forget about her problems.

Itzel took a large gulp and passed it to the scarred woman, who at first stared at the bottle as though it were going to bite her.

"It's been a while since we've seen each other, girly," the stocky woman commented. "May as well drink to the occasion."

That was all the encouragement Lana needed to give in to her second instinct. With a deep breath and two fingers pinching her nose shut, Lana tilted her head back and took a swig.

* * *

Blood splattered in all directions as the baseball bat connected with the man's skull. A dull _smack_ could be heard as the figure went down hard, dead before he even hit the ground. He landed in a boneless heap at Light's feet, and the golden-haired man looked down at him impassively. From behind him, Takada let out a small shriek, and Mikami stayed eerily silent.

Light made a disgusted face behind the cloth that covered his nose and mouth, put off by the sight of the carnage he had necessarily caused. The city really was a mess, Light had found out quite soon after the departure from Waterfront. It was even worse than it had been in the beginning, and he found himself appreciating more fully those years spent at the casino. Now, corpses littered the streets—granted, some areas were worse off than others, but there was not a single block or neighborhood that had been left untouched by a stain of blood. Given this situation, he was surprised how easily he had become accustomed to it.

But one thing about this "new world" that he knew he would never get used to was being attacked at random by sick people. They often came out of nowhere, and some of them didn't even make a sound until they were a few feet away. Ever since he, Takada, and Mikami had left their temporary shelter, they had been attacked on three separate occasions. At this rate, Light believed, it would take them days to get to the radio station. He wanted to get there as soon as was feasibly possible in order to minimize the chance of Ryuuzaki and Emerson having already moved on to a new location. However, their chances would grow slimmer with every day that passed; they had left only a few hours ago, and had only made it two or three blocks.

Patience may have been a virtue, but at this moment Light was feeling rather irritable.

"Which way do we go now?" he asked of Mikami after the trio came to a crosswalk.

The bespectacled man readjusted his glasses, looking both left and right before gesturing forward. "Keep going straight. We will have to make a right turn after we pass the alleyway up ahead."

As they continued walking, with Takada hovering between Light and Mikami, Light's hands tightened around his weapon of choice. Alleys, he knew, often meant danger. They were a place for both normal and sick people to hide before assaulting someone. It was best for all of them to be wary of their surroundings right now.

Strangely, as they got closer to the alley, Light's nose began to pick up an odd odor, one that made his eyes crinkle in distaste. Evidently, the others noticed it as well.

"What is that?" Takada asked from behind him, her voice muffled by what Light guessed was her hand pressed up against her clothed mouth. He didn't respond, but his stomach churned slightly. This stench—it was familiar. It was faint, but still recognizable to the young man. He held his breath as he paused at the edge of the alley, and peered around the corner.

As he did so, the golden-haired man nearly lost what scarce food there was in his stomach. The alley looked like a scene out of a horror movie.

Nearly the entire area was covered in blood, a scarlet ocean that pooled in the cracks of the old brick and around the objects lying near it. It reeked of iron and the ominous stench of death.

And the _bodies_.

Light was by no means squeamish; he had seen and dealt with blood before on numerous occasions, while he was working on a murder case as the Chief of the LAPD. But he had never seen anything quite as atrocious as this. It was the most violently orchestrated massacre he had ever set eyes upon. Human corpses were scattered around the alley, soaked in crimson to the point that not even their race was distinguishable. Light already knew that they were dead; there was no realistic way that any of these people could have bled this much and survived.

And the worst part was that some of them were in pieces. None of them had been beheaded; the only detached parts that Light could find were either hands or fingers. Whatever the culprit had used to cut them with clearly wasn't very big; perhaps it was a pair of wire cutters or large scissors.

Yet the part that threw Light for a loop was the obvious precision of the cuts. There were no chunks of flesh or other fresh marks on the skin, besides the obvious lines where extremities had been severed. And the way the blood was situated, covering every patch of skin and cement…there was no way that was natural. Someone had to have spread the blood manually in order to thoroughly soak the victims.

Had a sick person done all of this? Turned on the others with their affliction and murdered them all in a bout of insanity? Or had it been a healthy person, one with a penchant for psychotic behavior, who had taken the time to desecrate these bodies? This seemed like far too much effort for someone who had merely been trying to escape. Was this what happened eventually to those who contracted the disease? Did they become mindless savages with an instinct to destroy and a craving for bloodlust?

Or was it something else?

Light heard the faint patter of footsteps behind him, and before he could say anything in warning, Mikami glanced into the alley. Instantly, his face paled, and he clapped a hand over his face, pressing the cotton closer to his skin as if it would block out the stench. "This is…" he trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

"What is it?" Takada asked worriedly, craning her neck over to see for herself. She pulled back immediately, gasping in shock at the horrifying spectacle before her. "Oh my God!" she choked out.

Light turned around to see her retching, keeping the cloth clamped over her mouth as if trying to hold in vomit.

"It's awful," Light observed blandly, averting his eyes from the scene.

"What kind of monster would do such a thing?" Mikami asked furiously, his dark eyes glued to the massacre.

"It was probably one of the infected who turned on his own kind," the golden-haired man observed. "We should just move past it. There isn't anything we can do at this point."

"But what if the person who did this finds us?" Takada asked worriedly. "Or _people_?"

Light sighed internally, grasping the woman's hand despite his dislike of doing so. "We can't worry about that, Takada. If we keep moving, we will have a better chance of putting some distance between us—and we'll find Ryuuzaki and Emerson faster."

The brunette gave him a skeptical glance before inclining her head. "Okay. Let's just hurry past, then. I want to find Naomi's associate and that scarred bitch as much as you do, but I'm going to vomit if I have to stand here for one more second."

The three of them hurried past the alley, all trying to avert their eyes from the scene. Only when the smell had started to fade with distance did any of them dare to breathe through their noses again, and even then, there remained an aftertaste of tainted blood and garbage.

Furthermore, Light couldn't get that image out of his head—not because it was emotionally scarring, strangely, but because he wondered what kind of person could have done this, and how. The sheer morbidity of it…the murder scene had been, dare he say it, almost artful. Not from his perspective, of course, but it had appeared to be…orderly, in a way. Why cut off the hands and fingers? Why not just chop blindly at the victims' bodies?

Light recalled that hands were easier to sever than feet, and their flow of blood was much easier to control than punctures from anywhere else on the body. The person (or people) who had done this were not mindless. It wasn't random, as the crime scene of a raving lunatic driven insane by PHD would be.

At that moment, Light felt a peculiar crawling sensation on his skin. His head snapped to attention, being pulled in all directions as if attracted by something.

Was someone watching him? He looked back at Takada, who was staring ahead of her; Mikami was doing the same. Neither of them were staring at him, yet he still felt someone's gaze lingering on his form.

"Light, is something wrong?" Takada addressed him, her concern showing as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I was just making sure that no one is following us."

She took his words at face value, nodding at him with a smile, but the golden-haired man was anything but reassured. No matter how hard he tried to shake it, the feeling of being closely scrutinized just wouldn't go away. He didn't sense any danger at the moment, but the presence of another pair of eyes was enough to leave the young man highly disconcerted.

For now, he simply decided to leave it be. He kept his eye out for a place to stay, but didn't say anything to the others for fear of causing them to panic. He didn't want to let whoever it was know that he was onto them.

But neither did he want to keep watching his back, waiting and anticipating the moment when the mystery person would come out of the shadows.

* * *

After what couldn't be more than six hours and two-thirds of a bottle of tequila, Lana thought that the world was starting to look a little brighter. The world as seen through her eye seemed a bit fuzzier, granted, but also more vivid and colorful. Lights were brighter, though the sky had begun to darken; shapes and colors stood out in stark contrast to their surroundings. Sounds were also more pronounced, if a bit distorted to her ears.

Or maybe that was just because Itzel was starting to slur her words. Come to think of it, actually, Lana was doing that too.

At some point during the night, they had become wary of being spotted by L, Matt, and Mello; both women had left Matt's studio and gone wandering through the halls in order to find a more secluded place. They had roamed until they found another room, this one having a sliding door that opened outside into a balcony.

And it was at this balcony where they currently sat.

It was beautiful outside tonight—or so Lana believed in her tipsy state. (She would never admit to being _drunk_.) The sun had already gone down, so the air was crisp and the breeze perfect. From where the scarred woman lounged in one of the chairs that was sitting outside, she was presented with the lovely view of an ocean of broken-down cars and miscellaneous rubble. However, she also found that she was in an exceptionally good mood, and therefore the unsavory scene didn't quite matter as much.

"S'where'd you get a fith, anyway?" the dark-haired woman slurred lazily, taking another large gulp from the mostly-empty bottle.

Itzel guffawed, letting her bumbling laugh escape into the starry sky. "Some dude. A trader'n the street. Name's Waller, or somethin'."

"You mean Walter?"

"Hmm."

Lana laughed, and nearly spit up some of the liquor that still lingered in her mouth. "_You_," she slurred loudly, pointing with a melodramatic finger at her friend, "are an alcoholic."

"Yeah, yeah. So I like mah liquor, 'kay? What's wrong with that?"

The two sat in companionable silence for a moment more, taking occasional sips from the bottle that sat between their chairs. Lana was content with this, allowing her eyes to slide closed and savoring the gentle breeze on her face. She really never took the time for such things anymore.

Now that she thought about it, she didn't take the time for a lot of the things she used to care about anymore.

Vigorously pushing away the guise of a drunk, sad Lana, the scarred woman tried to focus once again on her surroundings.

"Ya know…" Itzel began, nudging the dark-haired woman with her elbow.

"Huh?"

"I know ya prob'ly don't wanna talk 'bout the whole Ryuuzaki thing, but—"

"Dammit, Itzellll!" Lana burst out, drawing out the last syllable of the woman's name. "I told you it's nothing."

"Jeez, okay," the other woman said. "For real, though, what's wrong with ya? If I were livin' here, I'd be all over one of these guys. Ya know that I haven't been laid in a while—"

"Shhhh!" the scarred woman hissed, probably waking up every sleeping entity in a ten-mile radius.

The Hispanic woman laughed again, her cheeks all but dented by her continuous grinning. "Ya still gotta stick up yer ass, then? S'not like it's gotta be a big deal. Ya want 'im? Go fer it. S'just sex, after all. S'when ya think too hard 'bout it that it gets ya in trouble."

Lana's heart seemed to skip a beat in that moment. Her downcast eyes found the nearly empty bottle of tequila, watching as a drop of the amber liquid rolled down the side of the bottle.

"I might be in trouble already, Itzel," she said quietly, her fingers picking at the zipper of one of her pants pockets.

The other woman looked at her with a pensive expression, but before she could reply, there came a loud grunt from the sliding door behind them. Both Itzel and Lana turned around to see Mello lurking at the door, an angered mien his way of greeting them.

"Sup, Mel?" Lana slurred, giving him a clumsy wave.

If possible, his frown deepened. "You're drunk."

"Am not."

"Really? So were you just making all that noise on purpose to get us killed?"

"Only a little," Itzel chimed in. "Want some?" She held up the bottle as an offering, and Mello's brows drew together as if disgusted by the very thought of drinking from it.

"No."

Itzel shrugged. "Yer loss."

A vein in the blonde's forehead began to pulse. "Can you just stop being so loud and go to bed already? Go make noise where no one else can hear you. This is the fourth time I've been woken up tonight."

He looked it, too. His eyes were bloodshot, though that could have been due to anger as much as tiredness.

"Fine then, grouchy," Itzel slurred, standing up from her chair. "I'll just sleep in here tonight. Looks like no one's livin' here."

Lana followed suit, sauntering back inside and closing the door behind her.

"G'night, Itzel," she said to the large woman as she left the room after Mello, staggering into the dark hallway.

"Later, girly," the Hispanic woman called cheerfully in response. If Lana wasn't mistaken, however, there was a tone of something else within her voice, something more subdued. There was something that she wanted to say, but at the moment, the scarred woman was too drunk and tired to bother to address this fact.

Lana staggered down the hallway in search of her room, disoriented by both the alcohol and the near pitch darkness of the place. When she finally found her door, which she had marked with a slash from her switchblade, she sighed in relief. At least she would be able to get a good night's sleep, which she could use to get a grip on her traitorously depressing thoughts.

That plan deflated the moment she entered her room.

She had been expecting Near to already be sound asleep by the time she entered the room, allowing her to slip into bed undiscovered. But to her surprise and horror, Near wasn't anywhere to be found.

L was, however.

The pale man was sitting on her makeshift bed, and his dark eyes found hers as soon as she walked in.

Only one thought remained in Lana's head as she laid eyes upon the quirky detective.

_Shit. _

"What're you doing here?" the scarred woman asked pointedly.

L quirked an eyebrow. "Are you intoxicated?" he questioned her, his voice curious rather than accusatory.

"Nah."

"You are slurring your words, Lana."

"No, I'm not," she defended, now trying to enunciate her words as much as possible.

"Hmm. And now you just sound as though you are trying too hard to hide it."

"Whatever," she said, waving her hand dismissively as she went and sat down next to him. She had drank too much to bother getting into a fight with him right now.

"Lana," L said, his voice suddenly serious. "As I informed you earlier, I would like to talk about what happened last night."

The woman sighed, burying her face in her hands. Really, she should have known that from the moment she walked in. He was never going to give up until he said what he wanted to say, was he?

_Looks like this night's going to be a lot longer than I thought. _

* * *

**I hope you guys liked this chapter :) As usual, I sort of left you hanging, but I'll try to have the next one up as soon as possible, given the fact that I'll be traveling for a week. (I leave on Saturday.) It shouldn't be delayed by that long, I promise.**

**Also, I would like to say that I don't condone alcoholism or abuse of any substance. It's costly and can do a lot of damage to your body (and mind). Thanks for listening. :)**

**As always, thanks for reading, and REVIEW!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	19. A Surprising Amount of Apathy

**Author's Note: I am extremely happy to be back home. Not only because I feel like I'm dead (as a consequence of walking what feels like a thousand miles in one week), but because I missed writing! **

** Allow me to provide you with a recap of my 29-hour train ride home. I met an old man who regaled me with stories of being chased by the KKK in his youth (which, in my personal opinion, sounds fucking horrifying), and I even met a teenaged magician with a top hat and cane. On top of that, I ate tons of chocolate, as well as a hamburger that was drier than Shia Labeouf's tear ducts. (No offense meant, Mr. Labeouf. I actually liked the first Transformers movie.) **

** Well then, thanks for listening to my rant! I'm glad to be back! **

** To WildfireDreams: Glad you liked this chapter! I was worried O.O**

** To version15: I don't know :) I tried to make my OCs as realistic and third dimensional as possible, since I hate when original characters are just Mary Sues. OCs are great and all, but when they're all the same it gets kind of boring. I didn't want Lana or Itzel to be like that. And I'm super-happy that you caught on to that part at the end, though I won't tell you if Light and B are going to be allies…**

** To leedleleedlelawliet: Thanks! I'm glad you like Itzel. (I do too.) I think she's a good friend for Lana, since she always calls her on her bullshit. L does too, but he's very standoffish, whereas Itzel's more out there and in-your-face. **

** And I did have fun! It was awesome! **

** To Guest: Hmm…read the warnings at the end of the note, hee hee. :)**

** To garnet86: I do hope the wait for this chapter wasn't too torturous, given how I left it last time. I'm glad you liked Lana and Itzel's drunken antics. And yes, people do tend to get sort of reckless when drinking (granted, not everyone does), so we'll see what happens between her and L! Oh, the humanity! **

** Indeed, my holiday was both lovely and well-needed. **

** To theprinceofsuffering: Updated! Thanks for reading all the way through! I'm glad you like the story so far. (I also like Itzel a lot—though maybe I'm biased, because she's one of my OCs. Oh, well.)**

** Warnings: Sexual Content/Lime, Profanity. **

* * *

**Chapter 19: A Surprising Amount of Apathy**

"Hold'n a minute," Lana said, effectively stopping L from saying anything further—at least for the moment. "Why do we have'ta talk about this now? Isn't tomorrow better, or something?"

The scarred woman knew that her argument was weak, yet she hoped that her desperation didn't show in her face—though, with the unfortunate addition of the alcohol in her system, that was probably a pipe dream. She tended to be more expressive when she had been drinking, both in face and in actions. But then again, who wasn't?

"And why is that?" the pale man asked in response, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "I thought that you said you were not intoxicated?"

Lana groaned in exasperation. Was he just fucking with her now? It would be just like him to do so. "I'm not, but _dammit_, I just don't want to." _Ugh. Can't I talk without sounding like a whiny teenager?_

"It is quite obvious that you are lying, Lana," L observed calmly, his patience remaining in spite of her insolence.

"What are you, my babysitter? God damn."

The dark-haired woman was livid. First he entered her room (or domain, as she liked to call it) without permission, like he owned the damn place, then he sent Near off God knows where, and now he thought he was somehow an authority figure? That he had the right to question her just because she had been drinking? This just irked her more; she had never done well with authority figures, especially after her brief stint in the back of a cop car with a quad of weed. Well…she'd never done well with a lot of people, but it was those who tried to control her that pissed her off the most.

She could be a mean drunk if she got hot-headed enough, but the young woman wasn't feeling it. She decided to humor him; since it seemed he would never leave her alone until she answered his ridiculous questions about last night, she opted to throw everything out on the table while she was tipsy and carefree enough to do so.

_Thank God for Itzel._

"Fine!" she exclaimed out of nowhere, throwing her hands melodramatically up into the air. "For the luva Christ, it was nothing!"

Her hands shook as she took note of the not-quite-perplexed expression on L's face. "What was nothing?" he asked, not taken aback in the least (from what she could tell) by Lana's outburst.

"Ugh." She buried her face in her palms, all her hopes of not having to explain herself further having flown out the window. "What happened last night…with Matt. Was nothing, I mean…" She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut as tight as they would go until her scar started throbbing. "The kiss. Was nothing." She could have been more articulate, but at least her words were clear. Besides, she reasoned, maybe if she paused every fucking two words the detective sitting next to her would get the message. "Are you happy now?" she bit out, turning to look at the man beside her.

L himself didn't look too convinced by her words, or even as though he had heard her speak. He bit his lip. "Are you completely certain about that?" he questioned blandly, his dark orbs intently searching her face. "Or are you simply telling me what is easier for you to say?"

"Y'know what they say," Lana shrugged. "Lots of booze equals a sober heart and all that shit."

"I do not believe I have heard that expression before."

She sighed. "Look, L, I know you have this weird-ass hatred of keeping shit in the dark…but that's kinda where I'm used to living. S'just, I haven't been completely…honest with anyone for seven years. Scratch that; I've hardly talked to people period, 'sides Itzel. So when I tell you, a guy I've known for almost two months, that the kiss's nothing, then you should just fucking believe me."

"You do not mince words. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yup."

The detective said nothing in response, but for a plain question.

"Do you care for him?"

The scarred woman stared at her partner in shock. She had never, in all of her most uncomfortable imaginings of this moment, expected L to ask that question—and so nonchalantly! Lana had more or less expected everything else that had happened thus far, but she hadn't foreseen (or wanted) an emotional discussion. She had thought he would have gone off on a tangent about how she shouldn't be getting involved with Matt because it was a risk, or something to that effect.

Nonetheless, she was certain of her answer.

"Matt's a nice guy…" she began. "He's a good friend. But I don't want to lead him on. He's been nice to me, nicer than anyone else I've met so far after leaving Waterfront." At this, she saw a miniscule twitch of L's shoulders, but she wrote that off as just a trick of her tequila-addled mind. That shit always made her a bit too tipsy; she didn't know how Itzel managed to drink it like it was fucking water. "So I'm not gonna encourage him. It's wrong."

Pause. "So you harbor no romantic feelings for him?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

It was true. Matt was good-looking, with an unconventionally charming (if bizarre) attitude, and he wasn't a bad kisser, either. But she hadn't felt a spark when they kissed, and that would have been perfectly fine if all she wanted was a good lay to release some tension.

But Lana didn't want to do that; it wouldn't be fair. Matt was nice; he didn't seem like the type to have sex with some girl and then forget about it. The scarred woman had seen and met plenty of men like that—Higuchi was only one, and Light was still a freak of nature in that regard—but the copper-haired man wasn't one of them.

Not to mention the fact that a little voice (probably Itzel's) was nagging at the back of the young woman's mind and telling her to project these urges onto someone else.

L's voice once again broke her out of her stupor, and she jolted at his next words.

"How do you know?"

She pursed her lips. Apparently he hadn't been listening. She knew because…well, for all of the reasons she had just told him. But, as usual, the man had seen through her. Matt's feelings and her own disinterest weren't the only factors keeping her from pursuing the upbeat gamer, though disinterest was a large part of the unknown reason. Where did her disinterest in Matt come from? He was handsome, nice, funny—all of those stereotypically drool-worthy qualities that were rabidly sought after by many men and women.

So why did he consistently fail to capture her romantic attention, even if it would only be a sexual endeavor on her part? As Lana stared at the impassive man before her, a light suddenly clicked on inside her head.

And it revealed the very thing about herself that she had been dreading to face, with L present to watch. As she thought about Matt, and stared at L, the pieces of the puzzle she had been ignoring began to fall together—and the outcome didn't look good.

Matt was bright and cheery.

L was subdued and inexpressive.

Matt was emotional.

L was rational.

Matt tried to make her laugh.

L tried to make her face the truth about herself, no matter how unfunny it may be.

Matt, she realized with some degree of terror, was not L. This thought was ironic in its simplicity, and profound in its complexity. And that was why, the dark-haired woman finally understood, she could not be attracted to Matt in the way that he wanted.

And with this realization there came a surprising amount of apathy on her part.

_Oh, shit._

Her eye took in the detective sitting before her in all of his disheveled glory as something suddenly dawned on the young woman. L was sitting right next to her, waiting for her to respond to his inquiry. He was as aloof and impassive as ever, but there was something wonky about him. Or perhaps there was merely something wonky going on with her vision. It looked as if L's image were being cast over by a fuzzy glow. The background around both of them was frayed and blurry, and in any other circumstance, Lana would have referred to the sensation as having "beer goggles." Or, depending on the situation, a severe head injury.

But that was the farthest thought from her mind at the moment. For some reason, L's question stirred something in her—and right now, she was feeling pretty damn good about it.

What was it that Itzel had said? That if she'd been in Lana's shoes, she would have had her way with one of the men by now. Well, Lana wasn't nearly as out there and casual with sex as her friend, but she still had all the appropriate female parts (sans a functional eye) and she sure as hell knew how to have sex. And, on top of that, the ever-frustrating object of her attention was sitting right beside her. What was to stop her from taking advantage of this opportunity and doing something that she wanted for a change? It wasn't as though there had to be any dire consequences. Maybe this whole…_infatuation_ with L would even be resolved if she made the first move. Maybe that's all it would take for the pale detective to be cast out of her conflicting thoughts once and for all. And in any case, it wasn't as though the man had any real feelings for her; if what Itzel said was true, and he wanted to, as the biracial woman put it, "jump her bones," then he would be as willing as she. It was at least worth a shot, right?

The longer the two of them maintained eye contact, the more appealing this prospect became from the perspective of the drunk—_tipsy_, she thought—woman. She wasn't paying any mind to the notion that she may have felt differently had she been completely sober and thinking straight. She did not even consider the possibility that letting her emotions and lust get the better of her was not only reckless, but a slippery slope that would only serve to amplify her current problems involving the shaggy-haired detective.

Of course, this was all speculative. Most of the time, there's a risk to taking chances and allowing oneself to give in to temptation. Sometimes it's worth it.

But on the other side of the coin, as well, one might know the risks and just not care about the consequences when it comes to issues of the heart. Had Lana thought it all the way through, with a clear head, she may have made a different choice that night. She may have simply decided to lie down and go to sleep, ignoring L's presence and moving on with her decision.

She didn't.

_What's the worst that could happen?_ she thought as her eye locked onto the contours of his face. She traced the lines below his eyes, the grooves of his skin and the shadows around the corners of his mouth. _It's not like he's Matt. He's not in love with me or anything. He barely even likes me…Itzel's probably right. An easy lay is all that anyone can really ask for in this place._

"Lana?"

She saw L's lips move, and heard him call her name belatedly, the sound drifting to her ears through a tunnel.

She didn't answer. Instead, without a word or warning, she leaned closer to him and covered his mouth with hers. As soon as she did, Lana praised herself for her ingenuity.

It was there. The feeling that she had been notably lacking when Matt had kissed her wrapped itself around her from the inside, igniting stars behind her vision as she stole a kiss from the pale man.

Much like she did, he didn't react at first. His lips, whether due to shock or revulsion (Lana was rooting for the first option), remained cold and stiff against her own. But as soon as she dared to press her tongue against his lips, he sprang back into life.

L pulled away from her harshly, releasing her mouth with a wet _pop_, and wrapped his hands around upper arms. In this position, she was forced to make eye contact with him, and she could tell that he saw the raging heat that was flaring in her face. To her own amusement and satisfaction, she could also see a tinge of pink in his cheeks. She grinned wolfishly as they stared at each other, probably much more affected by the alcohol than she had previously believed.

"What are you doing?" L asked her, his voice marred by an emotion other than impassivity for once.

The scarred woman rolled her eyes. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing, huh? Now either let go of me or move your hands a little lower," she teased.

With a disbelieving gape, L shook his head. "I should have realized this would be a mistake—perhaps I got ahead of myself. Clearly, you are far too drunk to have a rational discussion with—"

She'd heard enough. Though his rationality was at times endearing, Lana wanted no part of it at the moment. She didn't want a lecture; she didn't want him to talk to her. She wanted _him_, period.

With strength that even took the detective by surprise, Lana shoved him as hard as she could. He went careening backwards, landing face-up on Lana's bed. Before he had a chance to object, she crawled on top of him, planting her legs on either side of his torso. As she straddled him, she trapped his head with her hands, completely caging his body between her own. She noticed, with a twinge of pride, that he made no move to push her off.

After a few seconds, he asked again, "What are you doing?"

This time, she leaned downwards until they were nose-to-nose, allowing a coy smile to take over her features. "Are you _really_ this clueless, L?" she teased, shivering as she felt his breath ghost across her face. His eyes widened fractionally as she reached up with one hand and popped open a button on her black blouse. She then popped open another, freeing some of her cleavage from the confines of its cloth prison. A tingling sensation shot down her spine as she felt L's dark orbs being drawn to her chest, though he made no other movements.

"Lana," he said, for once sounding uncertain.

She loved it. She was immensely enjoying forcing him to step out of his comfort zone, as he had done to her since day one. It was high time he paid her back for that.

Lana was beginning to feel more heated, more itchy in her own skin. Warmth seeped into her bones as she leaned back down and pressed her body against L's. "Hmm?" she voiced, leaning her face into the man's neck. Her hands found purchase in his hair, entwining her long fingers into his dark locks. His breath picked up minutely.

Slowly, she drew back to face him again, staring into his ashen depths for only a moment. And then, with bruising force, she slammed her lips back into his.

Though L didn't put up much of a fight to begin with, Lana still fought for dominance as she molded her lips to his, her tongue pressing eagerly against the seam of his lips. It was a few seconds before the young woman even realized that he was kissing her back.

Cold lips suddenly turned warm as L began to respond, opening his mouth and allowing her to entwine her tongue with his own. He definitely wasn't an experienced kisser, but Lana let that slide as liquid heat, and what the scarred woman knew was arousal, began to pool in her abdomen. The kiss became more heated as their tongues enmeshed, drawing each other's breath out of their lungs.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but she swore she could feel L's large hands sliding up her legs, but then stopping at the tops of her thighs as if unsure of what to do. She didn't blame him; he must have been as overwhelmed as she was, if not more so.

She smirked drunkenly against his lips, then pulled her face downwards and began trailing kisses across his throat. His hands tightened on her thighs, pulling her body closer to his…

And on reflex, Lana thrust her hips against his. Immediately, she sensed the change in L's demeanor. He went stiff, his body stretching taut underneath hers. Sensing his sudden spike of arousal in the heavy breath he released, the dark-haired woman repeated the action. She got the same result—as well as the addition of a slight bulge in his jeans.

Growing frustrated with her own lack of stimulation, Lana ground herself roughly on her partner's growing erection. She let out a small moan of pleasure as she felt his appendage rub against her still-clothed center, and L's grip tightened on her thighs even further. Pulling herself back, she stared into his charcoal eyes once more, seeing them alight with lust and some other hidden emotion. He looked surprised, she noted.

"Are you alright?" he asked, leaving her confused until she realized that he was talking about her moaning.

With a giggle, she rabidly attached their lips once again. With clumsy hands, the dark-haired woman reached behind her and grabbed L's own hands, guiding them around so that they rested on the button of her pants. The man beneath her jolted slightly at her action, but didn't remove his hands. In fact, he seemed to understand her gesture, and embraced the opportunity, if a bit reluctantly. He slipped the button through the hole, allowing the front of her pants to pop open. He slid his lean hands beneath the waistband, inching upwards and coming to rest on the small of her bare hips and back.

But he didn't touch her where she wanted it most.

With a particularly firm thrust of her hips, L released a ragged breath, his hands tightening on her hips.

Lana smiled. "Like this?" she offered, repeating the motion with a roll of her hips. Pleasure spiked through her as well, and she released a breathy sigh against his ear.

"Are you always this dominant and persistent in your pursuits of men?" she heard L mumble breathlessly, and she laughed.

"Not always," she purred into his ear. "Only when I've been drinking."

At the drop of a hat, Lana felt L's demeanor change drastically once again. Before she could even protest, L grabbed her arms and sat up violently. She let out a surprised gasp at the sudden motion, and in her alcohol-induced state, she stumbled backwards and landed directly on her ass.

When she looked back up, her eyes widened.

The crazy-haired detective was staring intensely at her, his dark eyes searching her face for something she couldn't quite put her finger on. What was he looking for? Apparently, however, he wasn't able to find it, because she was capable of deducing at least one emotion in those depthless eyes of his.

Disappointment.

"This was a mistake," he said tonelessly, placing the tip of his finger in his mouth. "I should leave."

"Wha—? What are you talking about?" Lana mumbled. "What's wrong?" Had she said or done something aversive? Had she come on too strong? He had seemed as though he were enjoying it…

"This is not you," the detective concluded somberly. "You are simply intoxicated. I refuse to take advantage of you."

Lana's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm an adult, goddammit! I know what I'm doing."

He didn't even quirk an eyebrow at her. "I don't believe you do. I told you when you came back here that I wanted to have a discussion, and I said that when we saw each other earlier as well. Yet you actively went and became intoxicated beyond rational thought, in an attempt to escape your responsibilities. These mindless distractions you use—alcohol, sex, denial—these patterns of behavior show very clearly that you do not know what you're doing. And now you are hurting others because of it."

This time, Lana's face heated up with anger instead of attraction. "Fuck you, then. Fuck you. Jus' get out if you're gonna be a condescending jerk."

He obeyed, but he said nothing else before the door clicked shut behind him.

As soon as he left the room, Lana seemed to sober up. Not in a good way, mind you; in a way that made everything suddenly feel as though it were going to collapse around her.

Fuck. She'd done it now. She had completely cast off all rational thought—as she was prone to doing after guzzling a fuckload of booze—as well as all of the remaining shreds of dignity that were still intact. Funnily enough, this wouldn't have been an issue had she actually managed to have sex with L. At least that way, he would have been in the same boat as her.

But now? The bitterness of self-hatred mixed horribly with the sting of rejection. Even worse, now her feelings were out in the open. Even if it was just the product of lust-driven drunken antics, L would still know that she was attracted to him.

Oh, yes. She'd fucked up this time. She knew it, even as she sat on her pile of old blankets and pillows with her pants unbuttoned, completely spent and worried and horny and self-deprecating all at the same time. She shuddered to imagine how L would act towards her the next day, and contemplated that he might not even look at her again without seeing her as a drunk girl who had gotten too attached and tried to fuck him.

For the hundredth time, she found herself asking how she could have been so stupid. This seemed to be a running theme with her. Only now, she had no one else to blame for causing her to plummet into this hole of despair—not Light, not Takada, and certainly not Itzel.

Nope—she had dug the hole herself this time.

* * *

"Something's wrong," the man with the goatee said, his eyes glued to his microscope. "I've never seen this before."

Matsuda glanced up at the man from where he stood near the nearly-empty second lab station, where he was mindlessly dusting off the recently-cleaned viewing lenses. He deposited his rag on the table, eyes now directed towards the other man.

A young woman entered the room at the sound of the scientist's voice, worry lines etched into her face. "What is it?" she questioned her father.

"Doctor Yagami?" Matsuda echoed, concern in his dark eyes. His question went ignored for the moment, however.

"Look at this, Sayu," Soichiro Yagami demanded of his daughter, who speedily did as he asked.

After a few telling clicks of the microscope, the brunette gasped. "Dad…what happened to this blood sample?"

"I don't know," the bespectacled man admitted. "I would have to run some tests to find out, but I was able to detect a foreign agent. Do you see it as well?"

Sayu nodded. "Yeah."

"And you saw what happened to the virus?"

"Of course."

"We must record this in the journal immediately."

Growing more concerned with every moment that passed, Matsuda braved himself to ask a question.

"Um, excuse me, Doctor Yagami?"

"Soichiro is fine, Matsuda."

"Soichiro," the young man corrected himself. "Do you mind if I ask what you two are talking about?"

The older man smiled. "Certainly not. As a matter of fact, Matsuda, I may even request your help."

"My _help_?" Matsuda exclaimed. "But…but I'm not a scientist, sir! I don't think I'm really qualified to help you. I've been a bartender for the past five years—"

"That's not a problem, Matsuda," Soichiro assured him, interrupting the younger man's spigot of excuses. "I was merely going to ask if you would lend me a blood sample."

Matsuda visibly paled upon hearing the scientist's request. "A blood sample? Are you going to do tests on me?"

"Well, not on you, exactly. Any healthy blood will do. Sayu and I just want to use your blood as a sample for our experiments with P.H.D. We believe it may help us find a cure or treatment."

"How?"

"Well, you see," the man began, crossing his arms over his chest, "both Sayu and I detected the presence of a foreign agent in this infected blood sample. I harvested it myself from the body of a victim. At the time I analyzed it initially, I detected no trace of a foreign agent besides the virus. Since then, however, something has contaminated the sample while it was being stored. And whatever it is that now taints the blood…has completely obliterated any trace of the active P.H.D."

Matsuda's jaw dropped. "You mean…whatever's in there killed the virus?"

"That's what it seems."

The young man's heart began to race. "So…why do you need my blood?"

"As a test subject. We're going to try to find the identity of the foreign agent, and we need healthy blood as a base to test it on. We will infect your blood with a living sample of the virus, then add the unknown agent. Hopefully, the substance will not be toxic to humans as bleach is." He casted his eyes heavenward, his aged features suddenly appearing ten years younger. "Perhaps we have finally found something valuable."

Matsuda swallowed. "Well, in that case…you guys can have some of my blood."

Soichiro smiled warmly. "Thank you, Matsuda. Sayu," he turned to address his daughter, "can you go and request the same of Miss Misa as well? The more samples we have, the more dependable the results will be."

"Okay," the brunette agreed, heading out of the room.

As soon as she left, Soichiro turned back to the lab station and withdrew a packaged needle from one of the drawers. He slipped on a fresh pair of sterile gloves, then proceeded to carefully tear open the package.

"Can you roll up your sleeve for me, Matsuda?" he asked, brandishing the needle with practiced ease.

The young man gulped. "Okay."

After doing so, the scientist wiped the inside of his elbow with an iodine-soaked wipe, and positioned the needle. Thought Matsuda couldn't help but be a bit intimidated by the size of the sharp object—he had never been a fan of shots—he consoled himself with the thought that he was doing good. In a small way, he was helping Soichiro to save the world. How many people actually got a chance to work under the celebrated surgeon general Soichiro Yagami? Not many, he would venture to guess. So far, Matsuda thought that he was leagues better than Light had been to work with. As loyal as he was to his old boss, and as much as he had wanted to trust him, Matsuda never fully had.

Soichiro was different. He radiated kindness and sincerity, as did his daughter, Sayu.

All in all, the procedure was done in under a minute. Soichiro had filled up an entire test tube with his blood, and promptly sealed it and put it away. But not long after, there came another unexpected development: A knock on the door.

Both men froze instantly, trying not to make a sound that would give away their presence. After a few seconds, however, the knocking came again, only faster and with more force behind it. When neither of the men responded, a voice carried over instead.

"Is there anyone in there? This is the police! I repeat, this is the police! If anyone is in there, open up!"

Matsuda frowned heavily, but hope crested in his heart. It couldn't be…

"I repeat, this is Officer Aizawa with the L.A.P.D.'s Crime Division."

Matsuda's heart nearly leapt out of his throat, while Soichiro's brows drew together in contemplation.

"Aizawa?" he muttered under his breath. "Now where have I heard that name before?"

Before the scientist could act on his thoughts, Matsuda was already at the barricaded door. He had to see with his own eyes. A quick glance through the peephole revealed the outline of a very distinctive afro—and that was enough evidence for Matsuda. He undid all the locks except for the security chain, and nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his haste.

Standing beneath the crumbling porch of the building was none other than Aizawa.

Tears sprang to Matsuda's eyes, but he swallowed them, not wanting to lose his cool in front of the rough-edged policeman.

As it turned out, Aizawa was grouchy enough already.

"Matsuda, you idiot," he grumbled, his gruff exterior as commonplace as ever. "I knew it was you."

* * *

**Hehe. I love the task force. Aizawa and Matsuda are the best. **

** Did you guys like the lime scene? Sorry if any of you thought a lemon would be in this chapter. All in due time—of course, I couldn't just have Lana and L have sex for the first time while she's drunk! I don't think that's something he would do…L's more classy than that, I would think. **

** Anyway, thanks for reading. Watch out for the next chapter :)**

** —Vicious Ventriloquist**


	20. Making Connections

** Author's Note: Hello again. This chapter was fun to write. Things are really starting to heat up, aren't they? I really like writing the L/Lana scenes, but I also like setting up the plot. I want to make it as epic as possible!**

** To version15: I'm glad to be back. Trips are fun, but after a few days I start to miss home. (And, of course, writing.) I agree with you, I couldn't imagine L having sex with anyone. He is human, though, so I think he would have some sort of reaction. I'm glad you think I got it right! **

** I already pretty much know how all the characters are going to end up, but I don't want to ruin anything. Just enjoy the ride!**

** To WildfireDreams: Me too. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to take advantage of a drunk girl, even if she's given consent. Hell, he barely seems like the kind of person to have sex. **

** Maybe I didn't make it clear enough, but Matsuda knows that Soichiro is Light's father because of their last names, and because Soichiro and Light are both well-known public figures. That's why he was comparing the two of them: because he thinks that Light is nothing like his father. Soichiro is much kinder, and not manipulative like Light is. Sorry if that was confusing, but this chapter should clear it up. **

** To garnet86: I was really happy to finally be able to write a lime scene, since I feel like you have been waiting patiently for it. Of course, I want to build up some more tension before I write a full-blown lemon. I'm glad you liked it! I look forward to writing another one soon! **

** To theprinceofsuffering: Of course it's a cliffhanger…of sorts. Thank you; I wanted to include as many canon characters as possible—or at least the ones that are the most important. (And I hope my update was quick enough. Sometimes it's hard to find time to write.)**

** To CainToYourAbel: First of all, I love your pen name. I'm happy that you like my AU; I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought I'd give it a shot. I wanted to play around with the characters, and that's easier to do when you create your own universe. It's a lot of fun to create your own backstories for them. **

** And as for Itzel/Mello…I don't know. I have thought about pairing Itzel with someone, but I need to think about who it's going to be. You raise an interesting point…**

** Warnings: Profanity, Slight Sexual Content. **

* * *

**Chapter 20: Making Connections**

Though he tried desperately to hide it, Matsuda was still in shock over Aizawa's sudden arrival. The young man had hardly thought that he was ever going to see his old friend again, given the high mortality rate of nomads nowadays; he found it unlikely enough that both he and Misa had managed to survive on their own for as long as they had. The blonde girl was good-natured, he knew, but she was also unceasingly loud. He had more or less expected to be devoured by infected people, but fate had seemed to be on their side.

However, none of this changed the fact that Matsuda was wholly unprepared for Aizawa's unexpected reappearance. Even now, the shaggy-haired bartender couldn't take his eyes off of the man whom he had presumed dead; he fully expected to wake up at any moment, for he still wasn't entirely certain that this wasn't a dream. He pinched his arm just to make sure, but all he felt was a stabbing pain and the beginnings of a small welt on his skin.

Matsuda, Misa, Sayu, Soichiro, and Aizawa were all sitting in the large lobby, a dense silence hanging around them. The afro-man hadn't uttered a word since Matsuda let him in, and thus far, no one had dared to ask him a question. Put simply, the man looked exhausted: the lines in his face, which had been relatively light the last time that Matsuda had seen him, were now much more entrenched into his skin. Even his voluminous hair looked limp and greasy in comparison to the time he had spent at Waterfront. It seemed to the younger man that Aizawa had aged ten years in only a few months. Matsuda gulped; he didn't want to know what had happened to him in that small window of time to affect him so. He would probably be better off staying ignorant…but Aizawa, in spite of his gruff nature, was still his friend.

And Matsuda didn't want to abandon any more of his friends.

"A-Aizawa?" the nervous man managed to stutter. "What happened? How did you get here? And…where are the others?" By "others," Matsuda was referring mostly to Mogi and Ukita. Those two had been Aizawa's partners in the police force, while Light had been the Chief of Police. However, Matsuda figured that both the grumpy man and Soichiro wouldn't want to hear Light's name being mentioned. Aizawa had never fully trusted the man, Matsuda knew, even though he had never said so.

And Soichiro…well, Matsuda didn't want to go down that road.

Immediately, the young man could tell that his question had rubbed Aizawa the wrong way. His expression, which had been listless and downcast, now hardened into a mask of potent anger. Matsuda tensed. Could that anger be directed at _him_?

_Crap! Maybe I shouldn't have said anything in the first place! But—does that mean that the others are all dead? All of them?_ He should backtrack; maybe he should even apologize. Or perhaps he should just wait for Aizawa to call him an idiot, like he always did when he said something stupid—

"Ukita's dead."

Matsuda's racing thoughts came to a grinding halt as Aizawa spoke for the first time since entering the building. The words at first seemed to just rattle around in the young man's head, the meaning lost on him in its ridiculousness. Surely, Aizawa must be mistaken.

"W-What?" Matsuda said breathlessly, not wanting to believe his long-time coworker.

"Ukita's dead," Aizawa repeated with a deadpan stare.

Not for the first time, Matsuda found his vocabulary escaping him. Ukita…was dead? But…he was a former police officer! He knew how to take care of himself. Sure, he was a smoker, but he was still in relatively good shape.

So how could he be dead? It just didn't make sense.

"He was caught in the building," Aizawa continued. "He got trapped upstairs. Mogi and I tried to get him out, but the hallway was already blocked off. We couldn't get to him."

No. He didn't want to have that image stuck in his head—of Ukita choking on acrid smoke, trying to crawl to the nearest door as flames licked at the seams of his clothing. It was too much.

Misa, as a foil to Matsuda's denial, seemed to merely be astounded by the news. "No way!" the blonde exclaimed, leaping up from her seat. She jumped over to wrap Aizawa in an enthusiastic hug—her own version of expressing condolences. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, Aizawa!" Strangely enough, the grouchy man didn't even push her away.

Soichiro had a grim expression on his aging face. "I take it that he was a friend of yours?" he asked, looking from Aizawa to Matsuda.

The man with the afro nodded solemnly, and both Sayu and Soichiro bowed their heads. "We are very sorry for your loss. We, too, have lost people that are very important to us."

"Who hasn't?" Aizawa retorted, his hands gripping at the arms of his cushiony chair.

Soichiro nodded once again, overlooking the man's rudeness.

Finally, Matsuda managed to find his voice. "Where's Mogi?" he blurted out, not wanting to mention Light's name—especially not in front of the golden-haired man's father. He didn't know how the older man would react to news of his son's exploits—for all Matsuda knew, Soichiro thought that his son was long dead and was just trying to move on. He didn't want to be the one to tell him that his child ran an illegal fighting ring that allowed him to profit off of multitudes of women—not to mention the fact that he frequently sold Misa's body for supplies.

There are some things parents shouldn't have to know about their kids, and this was one of them.

"Mogi?" Soichiro repeated before Aizawa had a chance to respond. "Where have I heard that name before?"

Matsuda froze. Did Soichiro know someone else named Mogi? He could only hope…

The older man began muttering to himself, his fingers cupping his bearded chin in contemplation. "Mogi, Aizawa, and Ukita…" he said to himself. "Where have I heard those names before?"

Matsuda clenched his teeth in frustration. So Soichiro knew who they were? Inwardly, the shaggy-haired man slapped himself for his stupidity. Of _course_ Soichiro had heard those names before! He was Light's father, after all; he was bound to have met, or at least heard of, the three cops at some point. Even if he had never actually met them, Light must have told him something about his job and the people he worked with.

"Dad?" Sayu asked, leaning over to stare questioningly at her father. The brunette looked concerned, but unsuspecting. She had probably never met her brother's subordinates.

Aizawa looked puzzled as well. "I don't think we've met before," he said, suspicion marring his features. He had always been overly paranoid.

"I swear that I've heard those names. If only I could remember…" Soichiro trailed off, but then his dark eyes lit up with realization. "My God!" he gasped aloud, his eyes now boring into Aizawa's confused ones. "You work for the L.A.P.D. That's what you said, correct?"

Aizawa nodded.

"By any chance, did you three happen to work under Light Yagami?"

Sayu gasped in shock, her eyes flitting from one man to the other.

Matsuda broke out into a nervous sweat. Why did it seem as though he always managed to do the opposite of what he intended? He should have guessed that Soichiro would know the names of his son's coworkers. The man was a genius, after all; his memory must be close to perfect.

Aizawa raised his brows. "And who are you?" he asked defensively.

"I am Light's father. Sayu is his sister," he answered, gesturing to his daughter.

Aizawa's jaw dropped. "You mean…_you're_ Surgeon General Soichiro Yagami?" Said man nodded. Aizawa, on the other hand, looked as though he had been hit with a brick. "I had no idea that you were still here, sir. I thought that you would have been evacuated by the F.B.I."

"And leave behind my country and my duty as a scientist? I would never be able to forgive myself. Certainly, they offered me a spot on one of the planes, but I would have had to leave my wife and kids behind. There was no room for civilians. Had I done that, I would consider myself worse than scum. A man must fight to protect what he cares about. I plan to stay here and do all I can to find a cure. I couldn't save my late wife or my son, but I will never abandon my daughter."

Matsuda's eyes widened. The way he was talking…did he have no idea that Light was alive? Eager to drop the subject, he interjected once again. "Aizawa, what about Mogi? Where is he?"

The man with the afro looked caught off guard by the younger man's question. "He's…busy," he said dismissively.

"Busy?" Matsuda repeated skeptically, confusion evident in his voice. "What do you mean, 'busy?' He isn't dead?"

Judging by the look on Aizawa's face, Matsuda guessed not. Elation and relief filled his chest for a brief moment—that is, until something else began nagging at the back of his mind.

If Mogi wasn't dead, then where was he?

Aizawa sighed, suddenly looking more exhausted than Matsuda had ever seen him. "Mogi and I…and Ukita…we made a lot of mistakes, Matsuda. Working at Waterfront, coercing all those women into basically becoming our fighting dogs…and especially what we did to you, Amane." The blonde girl frowned at the sudden change in the man's mood, but made no move to reassure him.

Aizawa ran a hand through his hair. "It was unforgivable. No—it _is_ unforgivable. After Waterfront burned down, Mogi and I realized that everything we had done for the last seven years…it was selfish. It wasn't for your benefit—it wasn't even for ours. It was cowardly. We didn't know _what_ to do, so we just went along with what we were told.

"We watched the casino burn down. We heard all the women screaming…but we couldn't get back inside. All of the doors and first-floor windows were boarded up or on fire." He paused for a moment, choking on the last word. He clenched his eyes shut tightly.

"But then…we heard something scratching at one of the windows. We ran around to the side of the building…and saw Shankman climbing out of her two-story window. She….she climbed all the way down by herself. Tore out the boards and everything—a few of her nails were even missing. She didn't ask for anything, she just said…"

Matsuda leaned in to hear Aizawa's voice, which had dropped to a low whisper.

"She just said, '_I don't have shit for ya. If yer gonna kill me, just do it_.' That's when we realized…that we had nothing left. None of us did. She never did anything to us, but she still expected us to kill her. Because we _could_. We were just monsters to her. We had nothing—no food, barely any water…we didn't even have our humanity anymore. That's when we figured…the least we could do, after we used her, pointed a gun at her head, and threatened her best friend…was to help her."

Matsuda's brows furrowed. "Help her? How?"

"By protecting her. We don't work at Waterfront anymore, Matsuda—hell, there_ is_ no Waterfront now. What else are we supposed to do besides stick together?" He took a deep breath before finishing his speech. "We've been with Shankman ever since."

"So…why are you here?"

"I was out scavenging when I saw you through the crack in the window. I decided to come see you, and I told Mogi to keep an eye on Shankman. Wherever she is, he's watching her. And we found some old police walkie-talkies at the old station, so we can keep in contact wherever we are." He held up the large contraption, sighing again as he put it back in his pocket. He now looked more exasperated than anything else. "I just hope he can handle her by himself. That woman is nothing but trouble."

* * *

A string of internal profanities was the first thing Lana became aware of as she woke up. That, and the fact that there was a throbbing sensation in her head that was equivalent to being pounded repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

In simpler terms, Lana felt like shit. It never ceased to amaze her how alcohol could make you feel so good in the moment, while sucking out all of your happiness the next day. Her brain was pressing against the walls of her skull, her eyelids were heavy and crusted shut, and her stomach was bloated and aching—and, to top it all off, there was a taste in her mouth that was reminiscent of vomit.

Aside from the obvious physical discomfort that accompanied her hangover, the dark-haired woman was also having a difficult time piecing together her memories of last night. How had she ended up back in her room? Did Itzel send her back? She remembered going outside to the balcony and hanging out with the Hispanic woman, but that was where things got fuzzy.

_No, wait_, she thought. _Mello came outside and told us to be quiet, so I went back to my room and…fell asleep?_ That didn't sound quite right; something was missing, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She remembered talking to someone else besides Mello and Itzel…

And then, the reality of her situation, and of what she had done last night, came back to her with a sudden vivid clarity.

A bout of nausea almost overtook the scarred woman right then and there, but she forced it back down with no small amount of effort. She had tried to _have sex with L_. Scratch that—what she had done could even be classified as sexual assault. For the first time, Lana cursed her persistent nature. God only knew how L would act around her now. Would he avoid her? Tell her that their partnership was over? Or, even worse, would he want to talk about it?

No matter which way she looked at it, Lana couldn't foresee any positive outcome for this situation.

"_Ugh_," she groaned aloud, burying her face into her pillow and clenching her eyes shut. She didn't even want to get up. This was probably due in part to her massive hangover—tequila had never been her friend—but was mostly a result of simultaneous humiliation and anger. The worst part was that she didn't know who she should be more pissed off at: herself, or L.

Logically, she knew that the pale man had done nothing wrong last night—at least, not by most people's standards. Most women would prefer that a guy not take advantage of them while they're drunk. But in the scarred woman's twisted mindset, L's rejection was both an affront to her dignity and a belittlement of her ability to make decisions. Surely, almost any other guy would have obliged her wishes.

But, she reminded herself, L was hardly like any other guy that she had met. He couldn't even sit in a chair properly.

Bitterly, Lana chastised herself for being so idiotic. In reality, she had no one to blame for her horrible decisions but herself and her own inability to make the right choice while intoxicated—just like the time she had gotten drunk off her parents' stash of Jagermeister and fallen out of the tree in her backyard. Granted, teenagers weren't always the epitome of responsible, but that was just pathetic.

Lana groaned again as another wave of pain washed over her temples; clearly, she wasn't going to be able to get any more sleep today. She might as well get up. Besides, if she never got out of bed, one of the guys might come in to wake her up. Itzel, she knew for certain, would burst in like she owned the place. The Hispanic woman may tread carefully around a slumbering Lana, but she also had an uncanny ability of knowing when something was wrong with her.

Sighing in defeat, the dark-haired woman rolled over—and came face-to-face with Near.

An awkward silence hung in the air as the white-haired boy stared down at Lana, who screamed another series of choice words inside her head. With the way this day was starting out, Lana almost considered wrapping herself back up in her blankets—that is, until a pungent smell assaulted her nostrils. The dark-haired woman's nose crinkled with distaste, put off by the rancid stench that seemed to be coming from somewhere in the room.

As she looked to the side of the bed, Lana's stomach did another nauseous flip. She caught sight of the puddle of rust-colored vomit that sat innocently by her bedside, and almost gagged at the acrid odor.

_God. Dammit_.

She sighed again as she looked back up at Near, who had such an emotionless expression on his face that she wondered if he even knew what had happened.

Lana yawned, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. Without casting another glance in Near's direction, she said, "And that's why you always sleep on your side after drinking. Now get out."

* * *

He couldn't feel his toes. This was a bizarrely mundane sensation to take note of amidst his inner turmoil, but L found himself focusing on it nonetheless—that is, until a face swam into view above him.

Lana's face, while always readable to the young man, now stared down at him with a wicked expression that even he could not quite place. The ethereal glow around her face, like some sort of deranged halo—since the dark-haired woman was the antithesis of angelic—accentuated the rosy patterns on her cheeks and her bare shoulders.

Something else that the detective took note of fairly quickly was the fact that she was completely naked.

Shocked by her nudity, L at first looked down on reflex—only to be stopped by a warm hand over his eyes. He shivered lightly as heated breath ghosted across his earlobe, courtesy of the quiet chuckle that the scarred woman let escape.

"Eager, aren't we?" she said with a teasing lilt.

It was at this moment that L became aware of his own surprising absence of clothing, since he could not recall a time when he had ever slept in the nude—whether accidentally or on purpose. However, this did not bother the man as much as it probably should have.

"How did you get into my room, Lana?" he whispered, wary of alerting the others to his…predicament.

Another dark chuckle escaped from the woman above him, who began teasingly rubbing her bare chest against his own. Her skin was soft against his own, her warm skin and nipples creating a welcoming friction against both his chest and nether regions, which were currently throbbing with an unfulfilled need.

"_You invited me in_."

Lana seemed to melt into him, laying her body flat against his own. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't aroused; famous detective he may be, but he was perfectly aware of the fact that he was also a man. However, in all of his days, even in his adolescence, he had never been so close to allowing his hormones to take control. He should be throwing her off of him and chastising her for her appalling behavior. (Though, knowing Lana, she would either brush him off or storm out.)

He opened his mouth to tell her something to that effect—but found himself irrevocably tongue-tied by the gentle caress of her hand. Her palm traveled flat along his abdomen, trailing lower and lower…

L nearly jumped out of his skin when felt her hand wrap around the part of his anatomy that even he had never dared to explore for such frivolous purposes. At the slightest touch, his body tensed, jolts of a previously unknown sensation shooting through his groin. Was that her _hand_ that was doing this to him? It at first felt strange and uncomfortable for the inexperienced man; after all, he had never been touched there by another person before.

However, to his genuine surprise, it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling. Her hand was rough and calloused, and created a pleasing friction that warmed the detective both inside and out.

"See?" he heard her mumble over his lips. "It's not so bad to just give in to what your body wants." She leaned away from him, pulling back just far enough to look into his eyes. Her own—or at least the brown one—were clouded over with lust. A cocky smirk lit up her expression. "It feels good, doesn't it, _L_?"

* * *

The pale man gasped as his eyes snapped open, reality rushing back into his senses as it does when one has woken from an especially horrifying nightmare. He could not remember ever having a nightmare as a child, but he was absolutely certain that that was _not_ what they were like.

Disorientation dominated his five senses as the warmth around him disappeared, only to be replaced with a different kind—this one was decidedly less appreciated.

L felt overheated and soaked in sweat as he lied in his makeshift bed, his blankets tangled up in his legs. The heat was smothering, the sweat sticking his shaggy hair to his brow. It took him a moment to catch his breath as he attempted to will his most recent dream out of his consciousness. Unsurprisingly, this did not work.

_This…lust_, he thought, unwilling to accept it as anything else, _is certainly proving to be a larger problem than I initially thought_. Not only had he misjudged Lana's intentions, but he had even misjudged his own body's ability to resist her advances. Though he had managed to put an end to their late-night encounter without giving into his body's desires, he had not succeeded in banishing these persistent images from his mind. It was like a problem that he just couldn't solve, and it followed him into his dreams.

He wondered why. He had never had much of an attraction to any other female—or even another male—and he had certainly never had any erotic dreams about one. He had even entertained the idea that he was asexual, though that thought quickly flew out one ear in favor of more interesting topics.

Yet here he was, caught up in a sexual encounter and almost clueless about how to approach it. At this point, it was obvious that he was attracted to Lana, and attached to her as a partner. However, mere attraction should be shrugged off fairly easily by the pale detective. The simple notion of having a connection to the dark-haired woman that went beyond the boundaries of a partner, and closer to a friend, should be just cause for L to break it off and set some stricter guidelines. A deal, after all, was just that—a deal. Perhaps this was what he should do; he should make it abundantly clear to her that he wanted no part in any of her sexual encounters; if she wanted to have sex with someone, she could go to Matt. L was certain that he would be more than happy to oblige.

But he didn't want that either, even if it would be the most logical course of action. It was irrational, he knew, but the idea of talking to Lana and telling her that he did not want to be connected to her in such a way didn't sit right with him.

And he knew that this was because, if he were to do so, he would be lying.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged the fact that he lied to people constantly. It wouldn't be anything new to him. Yet…he did not want to lie to Lana about this. It was the strangest thing, but L didn't think that he would be able to. He had, in his own small way, reciprocated her affections last night, and to pretend that he hadn't would most likely only anger her.

But what was more was the simple fact that his own inner conflict was telling him to do something entirely different—to go back to her room and finish what she so brazenly initiated. And still, L found himself musing over a situation that seemed to contradict his own principles.

If he truly believed that human connections were a liability, as he had claimed to Matt, then why had doing those things with Lana felt so…right?

* * *

_Pull open the slit, slip the button through, pull it tight to make sure that it doesn't slip out by accident…then onto the next one._

Like everything Light Yagami did, his method of dressing himself was meticulous and highly technical. An uneven shirt, after all, displayed an unorganized mind. To him, anything to the contrary of neatness was disrespectful, not to mention the fact that it looked unbelievably tacky. In his previous line of work, messiness tended to undermine one's authority with the general populace. Men in suits were intimidating.

These days, however, it didn't matter as much—if at all—but Light had never managed to kick his age-old habit. He saw no need to; besides, the golden-haired man liked to believe that it portrayed him as a trustworthy authority figure to the women and men who worked under him. And, to be certain, his natural tidiness also conveyed a sense of honesty.

Light finished smoothing out the plaid button-up that he had found in the motel's drawer, catching a glimpse of himself in the vanity mirror once he was done. Though his hair had gotten greasy since he had been on the run, his face remained unblemished due to the scant amount of water he allowed himself to use for personal hygiene.

Takada, who sat on the bed behind him, cast a shallow smile in his direction.

"How on earth do you stay so handsome, Light?" she asked in a mock display of envy, wary of awakening Mikami, who slumbered unknowingly in the twin bed next to theirs.

"I can't control genetics, Takada," he said dismissively, casting only a brief glance at the young woman's reflection.

She, however, remained undeterred. "I was only teasing," the brunette confessed, twisting a lock of short hair around her finger. She stayed lost in thought for a moment, her dark eyes glaring strangely at the off-white comforter.

"So…how are we going to get inside the radio station? Breaking in would be too obvious. They would catch us before we even got close."

Hazel eyes glanced out the room's bay window, gazing at the cylindrical building that sat not too far off in the distance.

"That would be too obvious," Light agreed, brushing his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. "Both Ryuuzaki and Emerson have seen our faces—and I highly doubt that that woman told him anything positive about us. She despises us with a passion that even I can't describe."

"A remarkably petty hatred, if you ask me," Takada added on, her expression twisting into one of pointed dislike. "That woman is far too idealistic for her own good. Injustice is completely relative—everything you did was for our safety. She knew that from the beginning."

"Idealistic? Yes…I think you're right," the golden-haired man murmured, his eyes still gazing at the radio station. "Which is why she will feel obligated to take in a man who is down on his luck." Light's gaze shifted pointedly to Mikami, who continued on sleeping unawares.

Takada quickly caught on to his train of thought, and raised her eyebrows pensively.

"Him?" she mouthed silently.

Light nodded. "It should be easy enough to trick them—or Emerson, at least. I know her well enough to say that she will harbor someone whom she believes is innocent. Mikami is just that—he sincerely believes that he is doing the right thing, the _moral_ thing. All we need is for him to seek shelter with them, and our plan should go off without a hitch."

Takada voiced her agreement with rigor. "Of course…Light," she said, hope cresting in her voice, "shouldn't you get some rest? I…I know that Mikami is here, but we can be quiet."

"Not tonight, Takada," he said firmly, rejecting her sexual advances without hesitation. "I'll come to bed in a few minutes. I just want to go over the plan in my mind one more time. Everything should work out fine." What the man didn't voice was the one concern that had been plaguing him for days—and the one that had kept him up at night, ravenously scrutinizing the windows for any signs of tampering.

_Provided, of course, that no one interferes. _

* * *

**Oooh, I'm starting to get really excited. I don't know if you guys could tell, but this story is almost at its climax! Initially, I was expecting this story to be somewhere around thirty chapters long. It's starting to look like it might be a little longer than that. (Sometimes when I sit down to write a chapter, I just get carried away and end up making it longer than I intended. I blame myself.) **

**On that note, do you guys want me to include an epilogue at the end of the story? I was thinking about doing one already…I might do it even if no one wants it…but feel free to let me know anyway. **

**Oh, and by the way—I'm moving soon! I'm hoping to put out one more chapter before that happens, though, just so you guys won't have to wait longer for the next one. If I don't put one out soon, feel free to PM me into oblivion. **

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	21. Reflect

** Author's Note: I'm a little bit sad. Has it really already been 21 chapters? I feel like I started this story not even that long ago…I guess that's called nostalgia, isn't it? Ignore my rambling if you so choose, and enjoy this chapter! **

** To WildfireDreams: Thank you :) And enjoy!**

** To CainToYourAbel: So that's where your name came from! I only like a few Bon Jovi songs, unfortunately. Maybe I should go listen to that one. **

** I tried to keep the backstories that I created for the characters accurate to their personalities. I wanted to create my own history for some of them, but without totally changing the characterization. **

** And yes, I'm looking forward to the morning after as well…as well as Light's devious plan. Thanks for reviewing :)**

** To garnet86: The sexual tension is half the fun. The more build-up there is, the more intense the actual lemon scene will be. (At least, that's been my experience with all the fics I've read.) Of course, I don't want to drag it out too long…**

** To leedleleedlelawliet: I like your use of adjectives there. :) Thanks a lot! And I simply had to include the scene with Near. What's worse than waking up lying next to a pool of your own vomit with Near staring at you? **

** To version15: Definitely; last chapter was definitely internally-based. This one is too, though there is more rising action to accompany it. (As well as interaction between characters.) Your theory is interesting…**

** I'm glad you support my idea for an epilogue, though I'm still trying to work out the circumstances for when it takes place. **

** Warnings: Profanity, Partial Nudity, Mature Content. **

* * *

**Chapter 21: Reflect  
**

The cameras were exceptionally boring today.

It wasn't as though he saw a lot of action to begin with, but for some reason, Matt felt the emptiness of the room and the hollowness of the screens much more poignantly than usual. In the absence of fresh batteries for his Gameboy—he would have to go rummage through the boxes in the basement later—the copper-haired man decided to put his mind to more purposeful endeavors.

He had been working on Ryuuzaki's communicator ever since Mello and Lana had procured his supplies, but thus far, he had come to no theoretically safe remedy for fixing the blasted object. Simply plunging the wire Mello had recovered into a working outlet and attaching the other end to the gadget's battery was a recipe for electrocution, and Matt was fairly certain that he didn't want to die just yet. After all, who wanted to die before they were thirty? There were so many things he hadn't done—not just him, come to think of it, but Mello, Lana, and now Itzel, as well.

For the millionth time, Matt mused on the unfairness of it all.

However, his mind quickly went back to the task at hand. He picked up the screwdriver that he kept in his desk drawer, and began to pull and prod at the exquisitely crafted piece of technology. He wished briefly that the object would somehow be magically fixed, but his fantastical hopes worked (unsurprisingly) to no avail. On the upside, though, this communicator truly was a thing of beauty. At least he got to study it in greater detail.

The copper-haired man idly wondered about the identity of whoever had made it—it clearly hadn't been Ryuuzaki, but the mysterious man had given no clues or hints as to who the actual creator was. He wondered if the pale man even knew himself. Matt would like to meet him or her one day, if that were possible. He probably wouldn't, though.

_Of course it's possible_, he thought stubbornly. _But will Ryuuzaki help Mello and I get out of here if I fix the communicator? Or Itzel? He clearly doesn't care for us very much. At least, he made it clear that he doesn't trust me_.

That fiasco with Lana had told him very clearly where Ryuuzaki's priorities lie—and they were not with the personal relationships he shared with anyone, even Lana. Rather, the pale man seemed to place the whole of humanity above all individuals in terms of overall significance; a man like that most likely didn't have a family to speak of. A man like that didn't care about what others wanted or needed, but about what would get him results—even when it came to his own partner's wellbeing. A man like that wouldn't think twice about saving a stranger whom he did not know if doing so would cause him too much grief.

So how could Matt even bother to hold out hope that he might one day get out of this place? Or that anyone would get out at all? The way things were going right now, it was much more likely that he would be here until he died; so would Mello and Itzel, and even the kid.

And, he realized with sadness, so would Lana.

This topic of thought was unceasingly depressing to the young man, though to others it was probably just a simple fact. The issue was that Matt had always been an unwavering optimist; more often than not, he saw the glass as being half-full. This was the root cause as to why he acted in the way that he did before the virus broke out. Staying cooped up in the group home, playing video games instead of going outside, neglecting any and all interaction with the opposite sex—these were all actions that he took based solely on the notion that he would always have more time. He hadn't wanted to grow up too fast; from what little he had known of his mother before she died—a pregnant teenager who had been forced to become an adult far too soon—taking his time to mature seemed like a great prospect.

However, he hadn't taken into account the unlikely possibility that his whole world would come to an end before he even turned twenty-one. As a result, Matt was now exactly what he had feared becoming: still relatively young—but nonetheless, an adult, one who had spent so much of his life just trying to survive that he had never really gotten an opportunity to do anything worthwhile.

And wasn't that exactly what his mother had been? (Unless one counted Matt himself as being worthwhile.)

_Well—I guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree, after all. And I didn't even need to get pregnant to turn out the same._

But even so, the copper-haired man couldn't help but picture a better life, a life much more grand than the one that he had been dealt. True, he had never appreciated the world while it had been around, but he would rectify that mistake if he were given a second chance. He would go back to school; he would get a part-time job; he might even rent an apartment. (That is, if Mello were willing to help him.)

And eventually…well, eventually, he might even ask Lana out on a proper date, instead of giving her a cheap kiss in a dingy room at a radio station. He could be classy; it was worth a shot, at least. He could be patient—that was one of his specialties, as was testified by him having lived with a certain angry blonde for nearly his entire life.

Who knew? Maybe one day…he could even have a family. Not here, but over there—across the ocean, where society still existed in all its underappreciated splendor.

An image suddenly popped into his mind: Him—only older, with close-cropped hair, green eyes shining with the wisdom of age, and standing tall and proud of his accomplishments. A woman was standing next to him, one who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Lana that he knew—only for once, the smile on her face was genuine, so pure and honest that even her cloudy eye twinkled.

But there was another face as well—a smaller face, complete with a mishmash of features from both of them. It was the family portrait that Matt had never had, but had always assumed that he would have time to make. It truly was sad, he thought—how he only now saw the importance of time now that it had seemingly run out, slipping through the crevices of his fingers like so much grainy sand.

But wasn't that how it always was? People never appreciate what they have while they have it. It's only after they lose it, that irreplaceable object or person or belief, that they finally come to understand that they ever had anything in the first place.

A flicker of movement brought Matt back from the precipice of reality, with a none-too-harsh shove toward the monitors. Green eyes darted over the twelve small screens, eagerly attempting to locate the one that had detected the movement. Matt's eyes narrowed as he found it, and he gasped. He had thought, as usual, that it had only been a bird or some sort of rodent. Rats thrived nowadays; they were able to feast on the plentiful carcasses of humans and larger animals alike.

But it wasn't a rodent or a bird that he saw outside: it was a person.

Itzel had been the first outsider he had seen stumble by the radio station since Ryuuzaki, Lana, and Near had been found—and before those three came along, he had only ever seen less than forty wanderers. Some of them had been old and ragged, some young—the young ones usually meandered by with bursting rucksacks, probably looking for someone to trade with or rob.

To put it mildly, not that many people came by.

But there was a man here—a tall, skinny man who seemed to be shrinking into himself as if he were afraid of the sun.

* * *

" 'How are you…'"

_Flick._

"Como estas?"

_Flick._

" 'I am fine. And you?'"

_Flick._

"…Soy bueno. Y-_uh_ tu? Wait—what the hell? How do you pronounce this shit?"

A giggle from the doorway drew Mello's attention away from the thick book he held in his hands—and to the face of a person whom he was really hoping wouldn't find him right now.

Emilia stared at the blonde with a small smile on her face, her teasing expression causing the usual stirrings of violence within his blood.

"What are you doing?" the young woman asked, her deep brown eyes betraying the fact that she already knew the answer to her own question.

Mello's eyes widened, and he snapped the book closed immediately, throwing it behind him as he glared daggers at the girl standing in his doorway. How had she managed to open the damn door without him noticing? "Nothing," he snapped irritably, clenching his blankets between his fists. "What do you want?"

Disregarding the blonde's sudden shift in mood, Emilia took a tentative step into the room. Her smile stayed present. "You are learning Español?" she said, her question sounding more like a statement.

Mello didn't respond, his cheeks still burning with what he would only refer to as irritation.

Still, the brown-skinned girl ventured deeper into his room—and before he could tell her to get lost, she seated herself on his bed.

"It is '_ee,_'" she said enthusiastically, her bright grin hurting his eyes.

"What?" Mello stiffened as she suddenly reached across his lap, grabbing the thick book from behind him. He didn't even stop her when she flicked to the bookmarked page he had been on.

"Here," she said, pointing to the line he had been reading aloud when she came in. "It is '_Y_ tu,' with an '_ee_' sound. Like in English."

He took the book from her then, scanning the page with renewed interest. "Oh."

"I teach you."

Once again, his head snapped in her direction. She was still smiling, the lights in her eyes dancing like those of the often-unseen stars of Los Angeles.

"What?" he asked again, probably sounding as dumb as he felt.

"I can teach Español to you," she repeated, her voice now sounding timid. "What kind is this?" She gestured towards the book in Mello's hands.

"Kind of what?"

"Español—_Spanish_," she clarified with an irritated sigh.

He stared at her questioningly, but flipped to the front cover. Reading aloud, he said, "_Standard Spanish from All Over the World_."

Emilia made a _tsk_ noise before plucking the book out of his grasp. Without a word, she tossed it on the floor.

"No," she said simply, her tone leaving no opportunities for objections. "I teach you."

Mello's skin crawled with indignation. Who did this girl think she was, his boss? What he did was none of her business. "What's your problem? Isn't it better to learn a language from someone who wrote a book about it? You aren't even a real teacher."

"You are stupid," she said bluntly, shocking Mello into furious silence. A moment later, she seemed to realize what she had said. "I am sorry. There are many kinds of Spanish, from many countries. They have differences. We are near México, so I teach you the Mexicano Spanish."

Mello understood what she was saying, even if he was put off by her gruff way of telling it to him. He wasn't an idiot, after all. Still, even if he _was_ irritated, he supposed that having Emilia, a native Spanish speaker, teach him her language wasn't a bad idea.

"Fine," he agreed, a sour edge to his voice.

She smiled at him once more, folding her hands in her lap. "Bueno," she whispered. She looked nervous all of a sudden, her eyes hooded as she glanced sheepishly at him. "You…are a good man, Mello."

The blonde raised an eyebrow at her sudden proclamation. However, he didn't interrupt, and so she continued.

"First, I thought you are a bad man. But you are good. I help you because you are good."

* * *

The blonde shook off the last vestiges of his daydream as his eyes detected the barest hint of movement through the two-story window. Cursing himself for his moment of ineptitude, Mello pulled his binoculars up to his eyes, careful to ensure that he could not be seen through the heavily tinted window. He watched with rapt attention as the figure approached the front doors of the radio station, then took a long, lingering glance around themselves as if he or she were wary of being watched.

Mello raised a brow. He had a bad feeling, as usual. The man approaching the doors (at least, it looked like a man from this distance) came across to the blonde as suspicious, but then again, so did everybody that he didn't know. He had only ever placed his trust in a select few people.

He sighed tiredly. At the very least, he knew that he should go and talk to Matt. The man was no idiot, but at times he could be far too trusting for Mello's taste. He needed to make sure that the copper-haired man didn't do anything idiotic.

* * *

_Earlier that morning_…

After unceremoniously and borderline abusively kicking out Near, scraping the pungent vomit off of her floor (it was subsequently tossed out the window), and straightening out her rumpled and sweat-soaked clothes, Lana came to the reasonable conclusion that she was in desperate need of a bath—as well as a thorough physical thrashing for her stupidity. Of course, a bath merely consisted of venturing out back behind the building, accompanied by a bucket of dubiously clean water ("dubiously" since it was repeatedly used by the others until the water got too low), a bar of soap, and a ragged old washcloth that had probably once been used to scrape dried mustard off a tabletop.

Still, it was better than nothing, and was markedly more sanitary than using the old lake was. Lana would opt out of bathing entirely to avoid wasting water, but if you didn't bathe, disease would get you, even if it wasn't P.H.D.

And at the moment, the only thing that would stop the scarred woman from washing herself would be a horde of rampaging, disease-stricken track runners.

Lana yawned and stretched as she left her room, feeling only somewhat better now that the headache-inducing stench of her own vomit was gone from the air. She was already thinking much more clearly than she had been when she had first woken up, and as a consequence, there was only one thing on her mind besides bathing at the moment.

L.

She already knew that this time around, she would not be able to avoid talking to him about what she had done last night. This wasn't just an unintended kiss from another guy; this was _her_, mindlessly throwing herself at him on a drunken whim. She was willing to believe that the pale man did not want to be dealing with such nonsense at the moment, and honestly, neither did she. It was a significant fuck-up, due to the fact that they had agreed a long time ago to an impartial partnership with mutual benefits—she helps him, he helps her. Matt had promised no such thing, and so did nothing wrong by kissing her. She had rejected him as she should have, but that one good decision paled in comparison to how ironically she had messed up right after.

All that Lana could hope for—all that she would _allow_ herself to hope for—was that L would be able to move past this mistake, since that was all he seemed to think it was. Sure, he had reciprocated her gestures for a brief moment, but had quickly left. A few minutes of kissing did not mean that he wanted to have sex with her, or even that he thought she was attractive—especially considering that the way she had jumped him would have stunned anyone for a moment.

_Yeah, right_, she thought angrily. _Who was I kidding? Maybe if he had also been shitfaced he would've fucked me. But that's all it would've been—fucking._ There was a different connotation between fucking and having sex, Lana knew. All of the guys that she had been with since her injury—the customers from Waterfront—had _fucked_ her. That was it—no kissing, no caressing, no mutual pleasure on her part—and above all else, there had been no eye contact. Nearly all of them had asked her to turn around—her eye was too ugly, they had told her. It was an eyesore, literally. What guy wanted to look at that while having sex?

She had been a fool to believe that it would be any different with L.

On her way downstairs, Lana hesitated at the sound of a feminine voice coming from the door to her right—only to relax immediately when she quickly placed the voice as belonging to Itzel.

_That's right. I forgot that she's here. That tequila must've been laced with something to make me forget that._

She started to walk once more—then froze as a quizzical fact washed over her.

Who was Itzel talking to? Lana couldn't imagine that any of the guys had stopped by her room for a casual chat, and in any case, Lana couldn't detect a voice other than Itzel's from behind the door. Was she talking to herself?

Then, Lana's ears perked up at a familiar crackling noise that emanated from inside the room. It was low-pitched and subtle, but the dark-haired woman was able to place it as…

A radio?

_Why would she be listening to a radio? We're in the damn radio station! And if that were true, why would Itzel be talking to it—unless it's one of those radios that broadcasts your voice, like the one truckers use._

Feeling a bit apprehensive, Lana tried the doorknob; it was locked. Sighing, she resorted to knocking on the door.

"Itzel?" she called, her cheek pressed against the wood. Lana heard the sound of a mumbled curse, as well as the rustling of fabric.

A few seconds later, the Hispanic woman answered the door.

"Hey, girly," she greeted normally, her grin as bright as usual. "What's up?"

Lana stared with dubious concern at her friend, not knowing what to say without sounding accusatory. Should she question her? "Nothing," the scarred woman finally said. "…What are you doing?"

"Nothin' much—just woke up not too long ago. The guys don't mind if I go lookin' around, do they?"

"…No. Just head upstairs. Matt can show you around. He's in the control room, same as yesterday."

Itzel clapped the scarred woman on the back. "Thanks, girly. See ya later, then?"

"…Sure."

With that, Lana continued on her way downstairs. She wondered if she should have pushed harder for Itzel to tell her the truth, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Itzel would know something was up if she started questioning her.

But still…what had she been doing in her room? And who had she been talking to just now? Lana was the last person in the city who wanted to start suspecting her best friend of wrongdoing, but there was one thing she was certain of.

Itzel was hiding something.

* * *

At first, L was unsure about what to do or say when the object of what he chalked up to an infatuation stepped into his path.

More accurately, she stepped into the hallway that his room happened to be in, which was conveniently located on the floor just below her own. It appeared to the detective, as she did not address his presence, that she hadn't seen him. It made sense, really.

He was standing on her right side.

So he followed her—quietly, and from a distance, of course. He noticed that she was carrying a towel, one that was folded under her arm and which she had probably found in one of the rooms. He did not know exactly why he was following her, but he knew that he wanted to say something to her. The content of what he wanted to divulge, however, was lost on him; he had not prepared a speech, nor did he have a prejudged script that he could pull from his repertoire.

He should have turned around and went back to his room, or at least to the studio.

He didn't.

He saw Lana exit the building through the back door, the young woman only pausing once to grab a dingy old water bucket that sat by the doorway. Beside that was a half-used bar of soap, perfectly arranged in the tin can that served as a dish. He lingered by the doorframe when she went outside, careful that he was immersed in shadow.

Not that it mattered—the dark-haired woman apparently had a bad habit of not looking behind her to see if she was being followed. He wondered, for a brief moment, if that was just how she was, or if she simply trusted them all that much.

_It does not matter_, he concluded. _I should say something now. If I do not, I will risk another misunderstanding between us—_

L stopped thinking along those lines when she began taking off her shirt. Yes, he had procrastinated too much; he was now doomed no matter what he said.

The man's breath caught in his throat as Lana shrugged the button-up off her shoulders, placing the lump of cloth into a heap on the hot asphalt. L was pleasantly surprised. Though he had never considered his partner unattractive by any means—on the contrary, he found her face to be pleasant, despite what some people would think of her eye—he had never glimpsed the true shape of her body. Always, it was kept covered by the baggy button-up shirt she had worn since they left Parkerville Warehouse. She scrubbed it several times a week, resulting in the fabric loosening and stretching, masking her body type from the others even more than it already was. Yet, the brief glimpse of her cleavage that she had given him last night had been enough to fluster the detective, and he could say with the utmost certainty that he was not one to become flustered so easily.

A bit too late, he recognized the very real possibility that if she were to turn around and see him now, she may just as well curse him with every letter of the alphabet.

So, just as the young woman reached for the tin of soap, L cleared his now-dry throat.

"Excuse me."

Lana jumped, dropping the tin and spinning around to face him with a wild look in her eyes. The detective tensed, preparing himself for any and all of her physical and verbal onslaughts.

To his surprise, none of that happened.

The scarred woman stared at him with stark panic in her eyes, but only briefly; in the next second, all traces of emotion on her face vanished, leaving her with nothing in her expression but a mask of indifference. He could tell it was forced; the tense lines of her facial muscles and the barest squint of her eyes gave her away, as did the faint pink glow in her cheeks.

He was beginning to believe that she would ignore him completely, but then, she sighed.

"Look…" She turned back around, making no attempt to cover her bra-clad chest. She bent over to retrieve the tin of soap that she had dropped, her movement stiff and slow. "I don't know what you want, but I'm not gonna stop bathing on your account. I feel disgusting."

He cocked his head, his dark eyes not leaving her as she proceeded to dip the bar of soap into the water bucket, and began rolling it over her arms and torso. "Disgusting?" he echoed. "Is that due to the heavy amount of alcohol you consumed?"

Lana sighed heavily. "Wouldn't even _you_ feel disgusting if you woke up this morning hungover, next to a pool of your own vomit? Not to mention…" The hands that had been diligently washing her upper arm and shoulder stilled suddenly, as though somehow incapable of performing the necessary functions of bathing when she was deep in her own thoughts. "…what I did…last night."

"…I see."

All was silent for a tense moment, a moment that L would have declared awkward were it not for his total misunderstanding—disregard was a better term—of the word. If he were anyone else, he would have left to spare her feelings. But he was L, a detective, and he did not walk away from people who had something relevant to say.

And it was obvious to him that Lana still had something she wanted to tell him, even if she was currently avoiding eye contact and, if he wasn't mistaken, was even glowing a slight shade of red.

"L," she said firmly, out of the blue. He didn't respond, and she seemed to have expected that. She was adapting quickly to his behavior and mannerisms, he thought. It was _her_ turn to explain herself. "I'm…sorry, for what I did last night. I…let my feelings get the better of me, damn them, and then I tried to take advantage of you. It was fucked up—and really, really stupid, and…I'm sorry. I don't expect you to even want to associate with me again. So…sorry."

L allowed a few moments of deep breathing before responding. When he did, it was not without silently asking himself why he was even doing this.

"I am not."

Lana glanced back at him with furrowed brows. "What?"

"I am not sorry for what you did, Lana." _I should not be telling her this_. "On the contrary, actually, I was rather enjoying our tryst until the moment I put a stop to it."

She scoffed. "Really? Then why did you? Don't tell me you actually _meant_ what you said about not wanting to screw a drunk girl."

L wondered at the notion that he would ever use such crass wording, but plowed ahead as if he hadn't even heard her speak. "It occurs to me that I have been what some would call…insensitive to your emotions. Being who I am, it is often difficult for me to fully explain my thoughts and perceptions, as my occupation dictates that I keep them strictly under control. It is my nature, as well, that causes this tendency. However," he stepped closer to her, subconsciously trying to assuage her bewildered expression, "it has also come to my attention that you are my first real partner, that a mutual understanding would be beneficial to the both of us, and so should be a priority." He made eye contact with her, biting his fingertip in order to incite himself not to focus on the largeness of her eyes, but on his next words. "I fully participated last night, not because I was shocked, but because I consented to. I am sorry if I unwittingly played with your emotions, but I am not sorry that I pushed you away. I meant what I said, Lana; I refuse to touch you or take advantage of you in that state. I do not know why I felt in necessary to tell you this, but I hope that you will believe it."

Lana looked speechless after he finished his rant, the long-forgotten bar of soap hanging loosely in her grasp. Had he said something wrong? He opened his mouth to ask her, but was interrupted by the unpleasant sensation of someone almost slamming into him.

A very flushed Matt burst through the door, paying no mind to either L or the half-naked woman beside him—at first. When he took a break from wheezing to digest his surroundings, the brunette flushed a deep shade of red under the gaze of the stony-faced woman.

"Uh, guys," he managed to choke out, his eyes attempting to drag themselves away from a visibly angering Lana, "come back upstairs. There's someone at the front doors."

* * *

**So how was it? I wonder if any of you know who the strange man is. I look forward to writing the next chapter!**

**I am moving in a few days. This shouldn't interfere with my writing schedule too much. However, I want to update my stories before I head out so that there isn't any unnecessary delay. This way, I'll be able to get a few free days to move all my shit (because that's what most of my belongings are) without making you guys wait for very long. **

**This story is getting long really fast. Thanks for sticking with it—I get ecstatic whenever I get a review from one of you :)**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	22. Established Trust

**Man, moving was a bitch! I've moved before so it wasn't like I didn't know what I was doing, but it's still extremely stressful. At one point I was actually writing this chapter (and my other story) while sitting on the sidewalk. My new room is small and I prefer writing outside, lol. **

** To WildfireDreams: HERE YOU GO! A new chapter, freshly written from my new abode (and hot pavement). **

** To version15: Lol. I feel as though you guys should be used to my cliffhangers by now! :P I'm glad you like the part with Itzel, and I'm especially happy that you are growing even more fond of Lana. All of the characters are going to have to put their heads together concerning the intruder! **

** To leedleleedlelawliet: This might be the longest review I've ever received…I don't know, I'll have to go back and check my other story, lol. I love it! It's the best when readers get really involved in my stories. What else could an author ask for? Money? Pfft!**

** I love Matt too—that's why I wanted to get all in-depth with him in this story! And yes, this situation is bittersweet in that it's a terrible tragedy, but it's also the catalyst for the characters' interactions. (Which are kind of the best part for me to write!) **

** I do put a lot of thought into my OCs, and I'm ecstatic that it's paid off! I wanted to make them all different, all unique. The same goes for the canon characters, though I wanted to preserve their personalities as much as possible. (No comment on the Itzel situation or the identity of the visitor, haha…) L was the hardest, but it seems that you liked what I did with him! **

** (That police situation sounds scary. That never happened to me, though I was once evacuated out of my old house by police because the guy across the street was all methed out and had a crossbow and Molotov cocktails…yeah.)**

** P.S. What gender do you think I am? (Just curious, lol. You don't have to answer.) **

** To garnet86: Thank you! Everything's fine, and I was happy to be able to finally leave things on an optimistic note. I'm very excited to be bringing everything together; I really want to have the climax of this story be epic as fuck. **

** To theprinceofsuffering: I like to keep ya on your toes! Thanks for the compliment! Perhaps B will be coming in soon…you never know what he's doing…**

** To CainToYourAbel: Who doesn't love Matt? I like your paranoia; it'll be that much more intense when you find out what happens! **

** To clarkegriffins: Thank you :)**

** Warnings: Profanity, Partial Nudity/Sensual-ness, Voyeurism (AGAIN!)**

* * *

**Chapter 22: Established Trust**

Only a few seconds were needed for Lana to haphazardly throw her shirt back on, her quaking fingers hastily buttoning her blouse as if her life depended on it. While she was mindful of the presence of the two males behind her (a bit more mindful than she ought to be, in her humble opinion), she found Matt's unforeseen proclamation infinitely more important—and, of course, less awkward than being stuck shirtless in between two guys. It did not help her anxiety that of the pair, she was attracted to one, and the other liked her too much for his own good.

Really, though, any other woman most likely would have been foaming at the mouth at such a prospect. It was just a shame that Lana wasn't that sort of person; as well, it was a significant turn-off that she had not bathed properly in what by now must have amounted to several days.

She made a mental note to start keeping track of her baths.

"Someone's here?" she asked the brunette as she fastened the final button on her shirt, whipping around to face him and L, who was staring at her far too intently for her comfort. That was probably her fault; she hadn't properly responded to his confession a few seconds prior. He would have to wait, she decided; Matt's announcement took priority, no matter how much the dark-haired woman wished it didn't. She tried her best to ignore the pale detective, but her efforts were at best lazy.

Matt nodded at her, his cheeks tinted rouge from what the scarred woman assumed was the _outstanding—_sarcasm intended—vision of her in a bra. It made her wonder for a moment about the possible state of his virginity, but she found it prudent to gloss over that fact for now.

"Mello's up in the studio keeping an eye on him. Right now, he's just standing at the door. He seems…nervous," Matt added on, filling Lana with the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

_No shit. I'd be nervous too if I were stuck outside in that goddamn wasteland. It might as well be a zombie apocalypse with the fences down_.

"Has he said anything?" L chimed in passively, voicing Lana's thoughts.

Matt shook his head, his green eyes pensive. "Not since I first saw him. He just started walking towards the doors, looking around with this paranoid expression. Like he thought something was going to jump out and get him. I don't know if he's said anything on Mello's watch yet…"

Lana was certain that all three of them were thinking along the same lines: if whoever was out there said one thing wrong to the blonde, he wouldn't think twice about brandishing his shotgun.

Coincidentally, that was all they needed to hear before the trio booked it back up the stairs.

The first thing Lana saw when she burst into the studio was Mello's typically sour expression, with blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at the camera.

"Where's Itzel?" the scarred woman demanded of the blonde, automatically noticing the large woman's absence.

Before the irate man could respond, a hearty "Right here" issued from Lana's right. She whipped towards the voice, cursing the blindness of her right side as she took in the view of the Hispanic woman lounging comfortably on the old sofa, Near absorbed in an old book beside her.

Said woman grinned wolfishly. "That eye a yers still blinder than a damn bat?"

Lana smirked back at her, momentarily forgetting the issue of her friend's mysterious muttering from earlier. Her fingers instinctively reached upwards to skim across the tender skin beneath her scar. "You know it."

She turned back towards the screen, and her brows pinched together upon catching a glimpse of the intruder Matt had mentioned.

The young woman's first thought was that he sure as hell didn't _look_ like a criminal. What was more, he didn't look crazy or feverish, as the people who had been infected with P.H.D. did.

He looked scared, and one thing that Lana knew without any qualms was that she had never seen him before; he had probably been holed up inside somewhere until now. Most likely, he had run out of food or been forced out by the attacking sick or some other lowlife. It happened quite often; many refugees had come to Waterfront to plead for assistance. Light always turned them away with "guilty" assurances of a tortured conscience.

But now was not the time for such useless memories.

The man's hair was dark and tousled, and reached just past his chin. His equally dark eyes were accentuated by a pair of thick, wire-rimmed glasses that made him look similarly bug-eyed to some sort of insect.

And, in Lana's eyes, he came across as nothing short of terrified. He kept glancing around and behind himself, as if wary of being ambushed by a sick person. _Definitely a refugee_, Lana thought with more certainty. He had good reason to do so, she believed. She would be watching her back as well if she were still stuck outside.

Her ears pricked up when the man on screen began to speak.

"H-hello?" he called out, his voice cracking over the speakers. "Is there anyone in there? I…I need some help."

Pity, however much she tried to force it down, clawed its way throughout the young woman's body. The strange man seemed defeated, somehow, as though he didn't really want to ask unknown people for help but was resigned to the knowledge that he had no choice in the matter. He didn't, she supposed—how else was he going to get enough rations and supplies when nearly every store and building was already ransacked? Unless he found a way to break into a locked shop, or possessed knowledge like Lana did about the storage room at Vons, he was pretty much screwed. When it came down to it, refugees often had to rely on the patronage of others—it was no surprise that most people who ran out of their own provisions ended up victimized and dead on the street, like that old man outside Waterfront.

So, no—none of them had a choice. If they did, they would already be off the goddamn continent.

"You don't have to let me in," the man backtracked immediately, placing his hands up in the air beside his head. He seemed to rethink his decision, and began turning his pants pockets inside out. "I don't have any weapons, you see. I won't steal anything from you, I just…perhaps you could spare me a bit of food? Or some water? I don't want much…please, if there is anyone in there, will you please help me?"

With every word, Lana could feel herself growing guiltier, the feeling weighing down on her lungs like a repeated punch in the gut. The man appeared absolutely harmless. All he was asking for was something to eat and drink—and even if he were planning on robbing them when their backs were turned, there was no chance of him getting away with all six of them watching. Really, lending the guy a hand wouldn't hurt. Between the six of them, they had enough to go around. Certainly, the others must have felt the same.

However, Lana felt a twinge of surprised injustice when Mello suddenly blurted out his opinion.

"I don't trust him."

Lana, made nearly speechless by the blonde's words, immediately went on the defensive.

"Why not?" she spewed at Mello, leaning over the back of his chair so as to look him in the eye. "What's wrong with him? He just looks like a normal guy to me. We could just let him in for a second—"

"Are you _stupid_?" the blonde spit back at her, casting her a furious glance. "You just want me to let this guy in? He could be a psychopath. No way."

"You _really_ think a guy like this is a serial killer? Have you _seen_ him?"

"Yes."

Lana clenched her fists, using every ounce of her self-control in order to avoid slugging the infuriating man upside the head. "You think that guy's a murderous psycho? Hell, _I'm _closer to being one than he is—guy looks like he's scared of his own shadow. And let's not forget that _you_ let Ryuuzaki and I stay here. Itzel, too. Plus, there're six of us. He wouldn't be able to do anything—"

"Shut your mouth," Mello demanded harshly.

"Mel…" Matt started, raising his hands in an effort to calm his friend's explosive temper.

Unfortunately, it was Lana he should have been worried about.

The dark-haired woman spun the chair around and fisted her hands in the material of the blonde's shirt, bringing herself nose-to-nose with the furious man. Her mouth gaped like that of a fish, completely devoid of all verbal capabilities until she finally managed to ask a comprehensible question.

"Why are you such an asshole? Why can't you just be a good person for once?"

As usual, Mello wasn't one to stay silent in the face of such blatant disrespect. "I let the four of you stay here, didn't I? And let's not forget that your opinion doesn't mean _shit_, Lana. You can't make me do anything. Why are _you _such a pushy _bitch_?" he spat with venom.

_Crack_.

Lana paid no mind to the splitting pain in her face as she headbutted the blonde, but she sure as hell struggled against the arms that encased her from behind. They pulled her away from the blonde, who began cursing Lana a thousand times over amidst Itzel's background cry of "Oh, shit!" His fist nearly caught her in the side of the head, and would have were it not for Matt's fevered attempts at restraining him. Lana struggled just as hard, but relaxed somewhat at the sound of a familiar voice in her ear.

"Calm yourself, Lana," L whispered into her ear, his breath raising goosebumps across her nape. "Do not forget that we are guests here. You should not let your temper get the best of you."

Instantly, her muscles relaxed, tamed once again by the rationality she had come to expect from L's presence.

"…Okay," she whispered, allowing her fists to relax.

Matt, meanwhile, was still trying to appease an irate Mello.

"Come on, man," he said in an exasperated voice. "It's not that big of a deal. You were both out of line—"

"Fuck off, Matt. It's none of your business. You're just being soft because you want to fuck her."

The brunette arched a brow, one that implied that he very much questioned Mello's statement. (Even if his red cheeks told a different story.) "Oh, yeah? I have just as much of a say as to who comes in here as you do. Did you forget that _I'm_ the one who keeps this whole place running?"

A lesser man would have shrunk back at the glare Mello was currently shooting in Matt's direction, but as it was, the brunette stood his ground. Lana expected nothing less from the man who had put up with the blonde for this long.

"So what?" Mello snarled, shooting to his feet so that he and Matt were practically touching noses. "What are you saying? You're on _her_ side?" The very mention of such seemed to put a bad taste in Mello's mouth.

Matt merely shrugged. "All I'm saying is…it can't hurt to at least give the guy _something_, can it? Lana has a point, Mello. Six against one doesn't give him very good odds, and he doesn't look like he's infected at all."

The blonde growled. "I fucking knew it. You _are _on her side. You have been ever since the three of them got here! It's pathetic."

Though she was trying to heed L's words, Lana was unable to hold her tongue any longer while Mello was verbally reaming his friend. "This isn't about me!" she cried indignantly, ignoring the long-fingered hands that encased her arms. She knew that she wouldn't lose her head a second time. "This is about helping someone who needs it. It won't cost us anything but some food and water, and none of us have had a problem sharing before."

"Bullshit," Mello blurted out. "This is about me trying to keep all of us safe from some guy who I think is suspicious. It's an issue of trust." He crossed his arms, haughtily raising his chin as though daring anyone else to question him. "So who's it going to be? You want to trust me, or are you going to blindly put your faith into some random dude on the street? Huh, Matt?"

Matt looked conflicted. On the one hand, Lana was certain that he knew Mello was being unfair with his ultimatum; wanting to be charitable towards a stranger in need had no bearing on the established trust that he held for his friend. But on the other hand, offering an answer that was anything other than "You" would imply, at least in Mello's mind, that Matt believed such trust was misplaced. And, selfishly, Lana wanted the brunette to agree with _her_, even if doing so put a rift in between the two men.

Some friend _she_ was.

"Mello…" Matt started, his gaze downcast. "I _do _trust you—more than anyone. You know that. Distrust isn't why I'm arguing with you. I'm arguing _because_ I trust you; I trust you to listen to me and hear what I'm saying. But I…I do want to help him. I agree with Lana. I think we should let him in."

That did it. Though Lana was expecting some sort of shout of outrage, or at least an enraged noise, all the blonde did was steel his jaw. His blue eyes turned icy, frozen over with what the dark-haired woman recognized instantly as betrayal. She had seen the emotion many times.

"Whatever," Mello muttered at his friend. "Do whatever you want. I just hope you guys are ready when it blows up in our faces."

* * *

Mello absolutely despised his apparent inability to get both Lana and Matt to do what he wished, perhaps even more than he despised the white-haired boy's nonchalant attitude. He more or less expected the scarred woman's opposition, just as he foresaw Matt's hesitance in choosing a side. Yet Near hadn't even looked up from the book he had found in the record room once while the others had been talking. At the very least, the blonde expected a quip or two.

Really, though, he just wanted someone to take his side, but it looked as though that wasn't going to happen this time.

While Matt projected his voice onto the speakers and began relaying directions to the stranger, Mello silently fumed. Was no one even going to bother to question the man? Desperate people did insane things in order to survive, even if they were not inherently bad. Surely, both Lana and his friend must have known this, yet they seemed convinced that the man would do them no harm. All they saw was an unfortunate victim. Besides, there was just something about the guy that made the blonde's skin crawl in an unpleasant way. If no one were going to question him, _he _sure as hell would.

A small tug on his wrist caused Mello to look down at the source, and he met the averted eyes of Near.

"What?" he snapped, now more annoyed than he had been mere seconds prior.

"Leave him alone, Mello," Lana called out in a frustrated tone, her eyes leaving the screen for no more than a second.

In response, Mello scoffed and looked back down at the white-haired boy. "What do you want, Near?"

The boy shook his head, his white hair rustling as he inclined his gaze ever so slightly towards the cameras. Mello followed the kid's eyes; they were fixated on the stranger, who was currently walking up the stairs with an increasingly nerve-wracked expression.

As Mello watched, Near shook his head a second time. The blonde raised his eyebrows at the gesture.

_He doesn't trust him either. I wonder…_

Mello chanced a look at Ryuuzaki, who stood directly behind Lana as he watched the cameras with rapt attention. For the life of him, the blonde could not read the man's thoughts or emotions. He couldn't tell whether or not he was suspicious of the stranger, but Mello was guessing the affirmative. Ryuuzaki clearly wasn't a total idiot, and he wouldn't be swayed by pity or empathy. Mello allowed himself to relax, but only barely. He wasn't as alone in his suspicion as he thought.

A tentative knock brought everyone's attention back to the fact that the stranger was here, just lingering on the other side of the door, but was making no move to open it.

"Come in," Mello called out, trying to make his voice sound as intimidating as possible. "You'd better not try anything."

Apparently, his endeavor worked, because the door creaked open as slowly as if the man believed he would be ambushed on sight.

_I wish._

Interestingly enough, as soon as he caught sight of all of them, the stranger appeared to relax. Evidently, their group was not as visibly frightening as Mello hoped.

_Idiot_.

"I…" the man started, his bespectacled eyes searching all of their faces. "My name is Teru Mikami. It is…a pleasure to meet all of you. Thank you for allowing me to come inside. You are very generous people."

More than a few brows were raised at his overly posh introduction, but Mello held his tongue, which was currently aching to give the man verbal whiplash.

"Well…it's the least we could do," Lana said, her tone confident. "You seemed like you were in trouble."

Mikami nodded. "I was. I was almost killed many times already. You saved my—"

"Take off your clothes," Mello blurted out, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

The stranger's eyes almost bugged out of his head. "P-pardon?"

"Are you deaf?" the blonde demanded harshly. "We don't know if you're hiding anything. Now _strip_—unless you want to be thrown back out. I'm more than happy to oblige."

While the man seemed to flounder in a sea of bewilderment, Lana merely scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I don't need to see this," she muttered, heading straight for the door.

"I don't mind," Itzel chimed in teasingly, causing the man to go red in the face.

"I'm going to go finish my goddamn bath. I don't want to go another day smelling like shit," the scarred woman informed them. "If any of you interrupt me again, somebody'd better be dying." She practically slammed the door shut behind her.

With one last pointed glance in the blonde's direction, Ryuuzaki left the room as well.

Mello crossed his arms, his eyes conveying to Mikami that he was not the sort of person to be kept waiting. "Well?" he said. "Let's see what you've got."

Without another word of complaint, the man did as Mello said.

* * *

Lana continued, against all logic, to fume silently as she descended the stairs for the second time that day. Right now, the dark-haired woman was in want of nothing more than the privilege to wash away both the dirt caked on her skin and her anger at Mello. Truthfully, she understood the blonde's position; it wasn't as though she was opposed to searching Mikami for weapons or anything else that he might be hiding, but she only reasoned that he should at least have some tact. Anyone in the man's position would be suitably frightened by Mello's intimidating presence.

Then again, the scarred woman figured that she really wasn't one to talk; if there were anyone more tactless than she, it would be Mello, but this didn't mean that she possessed any right of judgment.

Paradoxically, she also believed wholeheartedly that he was an ass.

It also occurred to the young woman, as she was walking down the stairs, that L was still following her. He had been doing that earlier as well—she hadn't sensed him before, nor had she bothered to look behind her, a fact that annoyed her in terms of pride; now, however, the scarred woman was taking careful pains to pay attention to her surroundings. She had let her guard down under the illusion that those around her were allies, but now there was someone else under the station's roof. She would need to be more careful from now on, even if the man appeared as dangerous as a mouse in a trap.

Without pausing for breath, Lana called out L on his behavior.

"Why are you still following me?"

The woman pictured him cocking his head at her inquiry, acting curious despite the fact that he had most likely known that she had noticed him from the beginning. Yet, as she had come to expect from the even-tempered man, he refused to give her an honest answer at first. Lana was starting to believe that he was allergic to clear, straightforward statements when it came to answering the questions she found most prudent.

"How do you know that I am following you, Lana? As you recall, my room is located another floor down."

Lana scoffed loudly as they descended another staircase. "Really? Then why don't you just go back there, then?"

"If you must know, I was planning on continuing our earlier conversation. Even so, there is no reason for you to be so dismissive of my presence."

Now _that_ triggered an exaggerated roll of the eyes. Wasn't it just like him, in all of his absurd nuances, to deliberately cause her to lash out at him, only to then deny the existence of any logical basis for her to do so?

He may have been right, she hated to admit, but it was still an obvious dirty trick.

"You seem to be irrationally angry," L observed from behind her, drawing closer to her as they descended.

_What?!_ Lana whipped around for an instant, shooting her best glare at the pale man before indignantly turning away. She wasn't about to prove him right by exploding; if she knew him at all, and the scarred woman liked to believe that she did by this point, then that was exactly what he wanted her to do. Lana was sick of doing what other people wanted all the time; she was tired of swallowing her words.

She could remain calm if she so chose.

"How would you know if my anger is irrational or not?" she asked casually. "You haven't even asked what's bothering me. If you really believed I was upset, and you wanted to know why, isn't that what you would do?"

"Hmm…what is bothering you, Lana?"

"You."

"…Of course," L mused, his words contrary to his emotionless tone. "I had not yet considered it, but what I said earlier must have bothered you in some way. Would you care to explain? You are correct; as I said before, I would prefer to have our perspectives out in the open."

"Goddamn you," Lana mumbled jokingly, pinching the bridge of her nose. God help her, she was actually _amused_ by their conversation.

The young woman shouldered open the doors and emerged outside; L followed right behind her.

"You know, I'm going to bathe," she informed him, crossing her arms as she turned to face the detective. "You really want to finish this conversation while I'm half naked?"

L shrugged at her bewildered expression. "If I must."

_This guy really doesn't have any boundaries._ Lana, too stunned to bother voicing any objections (and not really caring either way), shrugged right back at the dark-haired man and removed her shirt once more. She turned away from L, leaving him to stare at the back of her head (and, most likely, some other more _private _places as well). She hid her smirk carefully.

She kneeled on the asphalt and rinsed her face in the bucket of water by her feet, splashing more of the cold liquid over her scarred eye. It stun a bit when she added the soap, but the pain receded with another bout of cold water.

"Lana?" L finally said after she finished rubbing the suds from her scar tissue.

"What is it, L?"

"You are not talking."

_I'm going to strangle him—after I burst out laughing at his severe social withdrawal, of course._ "And?"

"I believe that was the point of me coming out here. For as long as we are going to be partners, it is necessary for us to maintain—"

_Splash. _

It was probably a huge waste of water, but the scarred woman, when confronted with what was most likely going to be another one of L's didactic speeches, found it almost therapeutic to lob a handful of water at the man's face.

The ensuing sight truly was comical to behold. L was standing as still as a statue, his large eyes blinking in an effort to dispel the droplets of water. He appeared unsurprised by Lana's action, but upon closer inspection, the dark-haired woman found the singularly blank expression on his face to be absolutely hilarious under the circumstances. She burst into laughter, holding her sides to prevent herself from falling over.

"Priceless," she choked out, wiping a false tear from her eye.

L did the same, though the water dripping off of his lashes was most assuredly real. "That was…unexpected," he surmised, causing the woman to burst into another bout of laughter.

"You asked for it," she defended, reaching once more for the soap so that she could resume washing her upper body. L stayed quiet for a moment as Lana cleaned her chest and stomach, then removed her bra in order to clean her more effeminate regions. "Don't say I didn't warn you," she added as she threw the garment to the ground beside her shirt.

"Did that make you feel better?"

"Huh?"

"Throwing water at my face," the detective reminded her. "Did doing so release some of your stress?"

Lana bit her lip, rethinking L's question as she attempted to hold in her guffaws. She had been expecting another lecture, but this was much more amusing. "Well…I guess," she mumbled, cursing her body as she tried in vain to reach the middle of her back with the soap. It wasn't as easy as she hoped; she would kill for a loofa.

_Damn these short arms and long-ass back_.

Lana suddenly felt the bar of soap plucked from her hand. Her eyes widened as she felt someone else's hands running the sudsy rectangle across the unreachable areas of her back.

"What the hell are you doing?" she spat, completely floored by the man's bravery…or stupidity. She wasn't certain which of those had possessed the odd man to help her bathe.

"Do not turn around," he said, ignoring her question. "I am almost finished. It looked as though you needed help, so I am helping you."

"Uhhh…okay," Lana agreed hesitantly. "But why?"

"I have heard that bathing one's friend or partner is a sign of trust and closeness," he explained. "I have also heard that it is quite sensual."

Lana didn't know whether to slap him for his awkwardness or just laugh at his cluelessness. In the end, she decided to do neither. "Okay then," she agreed, her cheeks warming at her half-nudity when combined with L's sudden action. The fact that he was massaging the dirt and tension out of her back didn't stave off the feelings of warmth in her stomach, either.

Without letting the man see, Lana smiled to herself. For some reason, things were starting to look up.

Now if only they would stay that way.

* * *

He found them.

After so much valuable time spent searching, awaiting his opportunity to find the objects of his obsessive fascination, he had found them.

Following the three travelers had been relatively simple, though he was starting to believe that the one with bronze hair suspected his presence. That didn't matter, though—B was confident in his ability to avoid being thwarted by the young man and his group. If it were a contest between the two of them to find L and the woman—Emerson, the young female brunette had called her—then B knew that he would be able to outsmart him.

Altogether, there were seven people that he knew were around here—L, Emerson, the child, the blonde, and the three travelers whom B had followed here. It was only a matter of time before he took them out, all except L and the woman—those two he would save for last.

This sentiment, however, was extremely difficult to control when such a sight was in front of the serial killer as the display he was viewing now.

They were together—L and Emerson, caught up in a demonstration so sensual and sickeningly vile to B as to nearly induce vomiting. It was disgusting, how close the two appeared to be, utterly trusting of the other's presence; it was as though they had known each other for years.

The irony was perfect. Was L truly unaware that he was watching them? By all indications, the detective was mocking B in the ultimate way: by showing off what B himself did not have.

_No matter_, he thought dismissively._ Things will not be this way for very long. Ultimately, everything that I have waited and worked for will come to a staggering climax. All I need is three more infected samples in order to complete my initial mission—and until then, I have L and the woman to play with. _

_Enjoy your last bit of freedom while you can, L. It will all come to an end soon—the world will no longer know the safety and security you have provided them. Shortly, the entire planet will descend into a miasma of chaos and terror—everything that I have worked for will come to fruition. Yes…it won't be long now. _

In the obscure building directly across the street from the radio station, a pair of curtains was drawn closed.

* * *

**Normally, this would be the scene in the movie where the intense music plays out and someone off-screen chants "He's baa-ack!" But since this is a fanfic, I will simply leave you with this pathetic excuse for an Author's Note. **

**I am enjoying my new place so far. It's weird, though. I've never been good with meeting new people, and I've had to do a lot of that already. Life, man, am I right? Anyway, thanks for reading!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	23. Potentially Dangerous

**Author's Note: Hooray! My birthday just passed! In the words of Pink Floyd, "One day closer to death." Anyway, now that I've significantly dampened the mood, why don't we all take the time to enjoy this lovely story about the post-apocalyptic (kinda) wasteland that was once Los Angeles? (It's actually not all that different from regular Los Angeles! Lol, sorry.) **

** To garnet86: It's a good thing I updated so soon, then! I hope you like this chapter, because something happens…I won't go into too much detail yet, though…just enjoy! And thanks—I'm starting to get the hang of things around here. It's still a little weird, though. I should probably get out more. **

** To version15: Glad you liked it—I also enjoyed putting Near in some more. I feel like I've been neglecting him. It's just that this plot is so damn big I sometimes feel like there's too much going on! I shouldn't complain, though—it is my story, after all. **

** Also, about the B not noticing Itzel thing—that's because she arrived at the station before Light, Takada, and Mikami got there, so that means B never saw her go inside…for all you know. Hope that cleared things up! :) **

** My place is small, but at least it has a fan for when it gets hot. Go me!**

** To WildfireDreams: I have some good news for you, then. I updated! :)**

** To leedleleedlelawliet: It's awesome that you're so enthusiastic! It warms my heart every time I read a review like yours. **

** And it's totally cool. I don't mind discussing gender stuff with people. I just like to maintain an aura of mystery…y'know, and all that jazz. Feel free to refer to me as he or she however you like. Have a good one! **

** To Lily Resh: YES. YES IT IS. HAPPY YOU LIKED IT! **

** To clarkegriffins: You know it! And I'm glad that I updated too. It would be a shame if I ended the story like that. xD**

** To CainToYourAbel: He is a creeper, isn't he? I'm glad you liked it, though. And lol—that **_**was**_** a horrible 90s joke! Come to think of it, actually, I still say stuff like that…**

** Mello's one of my favorite characters as well. Who knows what happened to him? Well, I do, and I'm going to put it in one of these days. I'm just waiting for the right moment. **

** Hope you like this chapter! **

** Warnings: Sensual-ness, Profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 23: Potentially Dangerous**

Light Yagami had always considered himself a patient man. And by most people's standards, he was exactly that: he wasn't prone to revealing any sort of temperament to the contrary, though some exceptions had to be made in order to effectively assert himself to his employees. He was even less prone to losing his head in a dire situation, a trait that had done nothing but serve him well in his career as a police officer—and more recently, as the leader of a group full of underprivileged, desperate people.

However, for perhaps the first time in his life, the golden-haired man found himself itching to act on his most base instincts.

Mikami had successfully infiltrated the radio station as Light had told him to, and in doing so, put the first phase of his plan into action. It was just unfortunate that it would take some time to accomplish. Despite this, Light truly was thankful for the man's presence; if worst had come to worst, Light might have simply asked Takada to enter the building in place of Mikami, but the young woman was not skilled enough in silent infiltration, and would not have been nearly as convincing as a victim given her unsavory track record with Emerson. Getting the scarred woman to trust her would have been a nightmare, and, in Light's opinion, would have caused more problems than it would solve.

Now all that remained was for Mikami not to screw up, and Light would be one step closer to salvation.

A pair of hands slid themselves across his scalp, threading delicate fingers through his hair.

"Light?" Takada's feminine voice purred into his ear, causing the young man to smile darkly in response.

_Of course_, he remembered. He had promised to bring her with him as well. How could he have forgotten? "Yes, Takada?"

At his words, the brunette's hands descended to his shoulders and entwined around his chest. He could feel her body heat through his clothing as she leaned her chin on the crook of his neck, and he fought the instinct to lean away from it.

"How much longer do you suppose we'll have to wait?" she questioned him, the tips of her fingers idly playing with the sparse hairs on his nape.

Light resisted the urge to halt her maddening idiosyncrasies, and instead concentrated on finding an answer that would satisfy (and hopefully put an end to) her inane questions. In some ways, she was nearly as insufferable as Misa—though at least Takada was both more intelligent and capable of keeping herself quiet for more than two minutes. However, this also meant that Light had to be more careful with his words, lest she catch the drift of his true thoughts.

"I'm not sure," he told her, placing his hand upon her own in what she would interpret as a rare display of affection from the stoic man. "Don't forget that it will take some time for Mikami to gain their trust."

"I understand the plan well enough," Takada responded, interlocking her fingers with his. "But every day spent here is like another day in hell. I'm tired, Light…tired of running, tired of hiding in the shadows—and I'm tired of the two of us having to share our space with that man, Teru."

"There's no need to be so harsh, Takada," Light chided her. "He _is_ helping us, after all. I would rather not have to send you in there. Emerson would automatically suspect you, anyway."

"It's not that I dislike him," the brunette admitted, leaving her position behind Light and walking around the lounge chair to face him. With a nonverbal cue from the golden-haired man, the young woman seated herself on his lap, allowing her legs to dangle off the edge of the chair. "It's just…what's going to happen later? He has already said that he wants to help in any way that he can. He won't leave your side so easily, Light. He all but worships you and the Yagami family. When we leave this place, he will want to come with us. What will we do then? Are we going to take him as well? Personally, I think we should leave him. After he helps us he'll be nothing but a burden."

Light thought it over for a moment, and allowed a tiny smile to crawl over his features. This was why he had chosen Takada, he reminded himself. Although she was fairly clingy, and tended to harbor jealousy for those who factored heavily into his life—Misa included, though he had often reassured her that the blonde meant nothing to him—Light admired her analytic capabilities to a certain extent. She never failed to entertain him, at least. "Astute as always," he teased her, watching as a mirthful smile bloomed across her features. "I always liked that about you. And you are right, as usual. Mikami is a pawn, nothing more. All that he has to do is gain their trust—no, not even that. All he has to do is get Emerson alone and vulnerable for a moment. He's intelligent; he'll be able to figure out a way to incapacitate her and bring her to me. That is where his usefulness ends."

Light allowed a frown to overtake his features, pretending as though the prospect of what he was about to say concerned him. "I hate to say this, but we'll have to kill him, Takada—before Ryuuzaki comes to save Emerson, that is. I would rather he not find out about our plan. I never did like personal confrontations."

Takada smiled gently at him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "Of course, Light. I understand. If you want…I'll be the one to do it. I never did like guns, or blood…but I'm willing to do it for you."

The golden-haired man allowed his eyes to widen in a convincing expression of surprise. "You would do that for me, Takada?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked him, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "After everything you've done for me, for us—getting rid of Mikami should be the least of my worries, even if I loathe the thought of doing it. But I'd do it if you asked me to."

Soon, the couple's kisses become less chaste, their fleeting touches and caresses more adventurous as the sun in the sky moved overhead, counting down the moment that would bring them closer to their goal. Their embraces became all-encompassing—at least for Takada, who continued her vocalizations of love despite the inability of the man to either listen or care.

"Anything for you, Light."

* * *

It was odd; almost absurd in a way, Lana believed. It had already been a few days since Mikami had arrived at the station, and the scarred woman found herself to be strangely disconcerted. It wasn't because the bespectacled man had done anything wrong or remotely suspicious; on the contrary, the man had been as docile and polite as a mouse. He had even tried to leave several times, citing the fact that he did not want to overstay his welcome. No, Lana's discomfort stemmed from the fact that he seemed almost _too_ innocent; she was unaccustomed to dealing with someone like that. In her experience, good things almost always came with a catch—but so far, nothing bad had happened. She knew that she should be grateful, but something was keeping her from sleeping peacefully at night.

Not that she would ever admit that.

In any case, Mello had refused to allow Mikami to leave. It befuddled Lana how thick the blonde man could be. It was obvious that he only wanted the man to stay so that he could keep a close eye on him and prevent him from doing anything sinister with the knowledge he had gained of the building. To Lana, the concept was both ridiculous and overly paranoid, as well as fundamentally flawed; did Mello plan on keeping him here forever, or just until he trusted him? If it were the latter, Mikami would probably be here a while. Besides, with Mello virtually stalking his every move, Mikami didn't stand a chance of slipping out of the building undetected—not to mention that he would be seen by the cameras if he _did _manage to sneak out from under the blonde's nose.

Just as well, Itzel hadn't done anything remotely suspicious since the scarred woman had overheard her talking to herself a few days ago. She had been as nonchalant and personable as ever, and was beginning to settle into the rhythm of things at the station. Matt liked her well enough, and in return the Hispanic woman seemed to enjoy his company as well—especially due to the fact that he was Stripes, Lana privately thought. The two shared a similar sense of morbid humor that had been obvious to Lana even before she had met Matt in person. Even Mello seemed to be tolerating Itzel, not that the dark-haired woman had expected anything different. This was more than she could ask for, really.

All in all, Lana didn't see anything to worry about, and she was content with her situation for the first time in what must have been years.

Now if only she could just stop worrying about it.

The scarred woman thought this over as she slipped out of bed, casting a minute smile in the direction of the slumbering boy beside her. She placed a hand on his messy white hair, straightening it out as a force of habit before getting dressed.

Near woke up not too long after her, sitting up just as Lana finished fastening the last button on her shirt.

"Morning," she called to him, brushing her messy hair out of her eyes and running her fingers through the tangled knots. "Are you hungry?"

The white-haired boy didn't respond to her, his attention drawn to the book that sat beside his makeshift cot. He ran his fingers across the broken spine, flipping through the ancient yellow pages as though searching for something.

"Near?" the young woman said concernedly, coming over to kneel beside him. "What is it?" Lana glanced down at the book, her eyes scanning the tops of the individual pages for the book's title. When she found it, her brows furrowed with confusion.

_A Journey into Madness: Psychopaths &amp; Sociopaths in Today's Society. _

"Why are you reading that?" Lana asked, taken aback by the boy's choice of literature.

When Near glanced at her, his expression sent shivers down her spine. She had never seen a boy—a twelve-year-old, for God's sake—look so deadly serious.

"You should not trust Mikami," he told her. "Oftentimes, people with psychopathic tendencies are able to manipulate those around them into doing their bidding. It would be best if—"

"Whoa!" she interrupted. "Hold on a minute, Near," Lana told him, plucking the book out of his grasp. "Just because Mikami acts weird sometimes doesn't mean he's a psychopath, okay? He isn't manipulating us. Mello's keeping an eye on him, so you don't need to worry. Now come on; let's go get something to eat." Without another word, the young woman left the room, still partially disturbed by Near's ominous warning.

As it happened, she was in such a hurry to leave that she didn't hear the boy's next words.

"That is not what I meant."

But still, Near followed after her, leaving his book abandoned on the floor.

* * *

Near's bizarre outburst bothered the dark-haired woman more than she cared to admit, but she managed to push that thought out of her conscience for the time being. After all, she had a _real _psychopath to worry about—one who may or may not bring the world to its knees, depending on whether or not her and L could catch him.

As she and Near entered the studio, they were treated to the sight of Matt, Itzel, and L, who were all situated in various parts of the room. Itzel and L were both silent, courtesy of the brunette, who was just finishing up his morning broadcast.

"Thanks for listening this morning, guys," Matt said cheerfully. "Keep yourselves safe out there—and as always, I'm your lovable host Stripes, coming to you live with more bad news than you can handle without slipping into insanity!" After removing his headphones, the brunette moved the needle onto the record player beside him, filling the studio with the familiar sound of Steven Tyler's voice.

"Hey, guys," Matt said to Lana and Near as he came out of the studio. He shot Lana a nervous smile. "Getting something to eat?"

"Yeah," the scarred woman replied, already setting her eyes on the canned food.

"Good," the brunette said. "I was just about to give Ryuuzaki the good news—you may as well be here for it too."

Lana cast him a sideways glance, raising one eyebrow questioningly. "What good news?"

L cocked his head at the other man, as did Near, and even Itzel showed some degree of interest. Matt suddenly looked anxious beneath the weight of all their gazes, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Geez, guys. Put me on the spot, why don'tcha? Give a man a break, alright?"

"Out with it, Skinny," Itzel chided him, using her preferred nickname.

Lana rolled her eyes. "What is it, Matt?"

"Well, after a few weeks spent messing around with the damn thing—and cutting myself on ultra-thin wire, thank you very much—I think I finally managed to get the communicator working."

Lana's ears instantly perked up, and she had to fight to hold in her expletives. She didn't want to give Near the wrong impression.

"_What?"_ she finally sputtered out. "You fixed it?"

Matt smiled cockily at her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I _think_ I did."

"What do you mean?" L cut in, pulling his knees up to his chest and perching his bare feet on the edge of the couch. "Is the device not working properly?"

"I managed to get an electrical current running through it—used the static electricity from my socks and the carpet." He gave a small laugh, his cheeks tinged with the smallest hue of pink. "But I couldn't get it to respond when I flipped the switch. It's working, but it won't turn on."

L reached out with an open palm. "Give it to me."

Matt did as he was asked, looking skeptical about the situation. Lana felt much the same; as far as she knew, L wasn't an expert in technology…but then again, the pale man always did manage to find new ways to surprise her.

L fiddled with the communicator a bit before gesturing towards his ear. "If you would all be willing to do me a favor," he began, "would you mind covering your ears and turning away for a moment?"

"What?" Lana asked. "Why?"

"Matt was right about it not working, but it is not due to any defect. This device requires a password in order to be fully activated, you see—for security reasons. It only requires one after it has been deactivated for more than twenty-four hours, to ensure that one does not have to constantly keep saying the password out loud. Now, if you do not mind, Lana?"

The scarred woman noticed then that the others had already done as he had asked. With an angry huff and a face red with mild embarrassment, she did the same—but she wasn't happy about it.

_A password, huh? That might come in handy if I ever want to talk to someone on the outside. There's no way he'd let me, though, not unless he was dying._ It occurred to her then that this was a very real possibility. Surely he would understand if she eavesdropped just a little…

Slowly, so as not to draw attention, Lana unplugged one of her ears.

"…liet," she heard the detective say.

_Dammit!_ She must have missed the first syllables. Damn her conscience.

After L fiddled around with the device for a few more seconds, accompanied by strange musing noises, L informed them that he was finished.

"Well?" Matt interjected. "Did it work?"

"Yes, fortunately," the shaggy-haired man said, not taking his eyes off of the object. "But _un_fortunately, my associate did not answer when I attempted to contact him just now. Perhaps he is busy—I would not blame him for leaving his communicator unattended. He most likely believes that I am dead at this point." This didn't appear to concern him much, however—that, or this was his usual stoic demeanor masking his true emotions.

"How would he know if you were dead? Are you saying that he wouldn't try to save you if you went missing? Bring you back, or something?" Matt asked quizzically.

"No. If I were to go missing, we agreed that he should in no way try to find me or send others here to do so. Instead, someone else would be sent to finish the job—however, this would not happen for at least another month. We have time." L continued on speaking as though it was of no concern to him. "In any case, now that my communicator has been restored, we must resume our search as soon as possible, Lana."

The dark-haired woman nodded in agreement, though she felt a sharp twinge of disappointment within her gut. Just when she had begun to fall back into a routine, one that she was actually content with, responsibility and the real world had to come back around and bite her in the ass. It wasn't fair.

This was really starting to piss her off.

"So what's our next move?" she asked him instead of griping, taking a seat between him and Itzel on the sofa. She ignored the pointed look that the Hispanic woman was shooting in her direction.

"It is clear to me that B will not reveal himself to us so easily. Though Matt has his cameras set up around the perimeter of the building, I find it difficult to believe that we would catch B in this way. I do not think that he would stumble into this building without considering the existence of some sort of surveillance. On a brighter note, we already know that he was tracking us before. It stands to reason that he is tracking us now as well, and may even already be in the vicinity. Therefore, I am theorizing that B is somewhere nearby—not only that, but he is waiting for an opportunity to approach us. He may even be watching this building as we speak."

L's words sent a cold chill down her spine, and she swallowed in an attempt to find relief for her dry throat. It didn't work. "So what should we do? How are we going to catch him if he won't come near the station?"

"Simple," the pale man stated with nonchalance that rivaled Lana's distress. "We will bait him."

Lana was no expert in catching criminals, but that didn't sound good—especially since in the movies, bait usually had an entire flock of police officers with guns to back them up. What the hell did _they_ have?

"Bait him…" she repeated, horror dawning on her as she processed his words. "With what?"

L met her concerned gaze, a thumb submerged partway into his mouth. "With myself, obviously. I am going to go outside and entice him to come after me."

Lana's first instinct—and this probably wasn't saying a lot for her character—was to slap him upside the head for such an absurd statement, even if doing what the detective was suggesting made the most sense to him. To her, it was akin to nothing more than a suicide mission.

And she'd be damned if she let him take it.

"Guys," she said quietly, addressing Matt, Itzel, and Near, "can you leave us alone for a second?"

Near and Matt both left, the latter with tender concern in his green eyes, but Itzel lagged behind them.

"Are ya okay, girly?" she said softly, lingering in the doorway.

"It's fine," she reassured the older woman, her eyes set firmly on her clenched fists. "Thanks, Itzel."

The door clicked shut with finality. Before L could even open his mouth to defend his plan, Lana was already on him.

"What the hell's _wrong_ with you?" she snapped, eyes boring into his with ferocity.

He met her furious gaze with a level head, never one to succumb to base emotions. "I am doing my job," he told her calmly, only further inciting the young woman's rage.

"By sacrificing yourself? That's fucking stupid, L, even by your jacked-up standards."

"Would you prefer that I allow B to continue roaming free?"

"No," she spat at him, oblivious to his rhetorical tone. "I would _prefer_ if you didn't go dying on me. You seem to get a kick out of doing that."

He cocked his head at the bitterness that laced her voice, and she was certain that he was remembering how she had reacted when he almost died. "I am not helpless, Lana. My leg has healed. Sometimes I must put myself in potentially dangerous situations in order to solve a case—though I must admit, I have never done anything like this before."

"_Potentially _dangerous? _That's _what you call confronting a serial killer?"

He didn't flinch beneath her irate expression. "Yes."

Maybe it was childish, but Lana crossed her arms and turned away from him, essentially giving him the silent treatment. It was all she had left up her sleeve at this point.

Still, that did not deter the detective. "Please do not act this way, Lana. I still require your help. Just know that I am not trying to kill myself—I rather enjoy living, actually. I am only suggesting that I use myself as bait because doing so could help us catch B and solve the case. And then, after we do…you would be able to leave this place. I was under the impression that you wanted that. So why are you objecting?"

_He really is an idiot, isn't he?_ She didn't bother to dignify such an obvious question with an answer.

Instead, to the surprise of both of them, the scarred woman turned back around and pulled his face to hers, connecting their lips in a frenzied kiss that conveyed all that he needed to know.

Yes, he was an idiot—but the same could also be said of her.

They were both idiots, really.

* * *

At the moment, Mello was about ready to claw someone's eyes out.

Actually, what the blonde man _really_ wanted to do was get some fucking sleep, but that priority took a back seat while Mikami was here. Although Matt had tried to reassure him—to no avail—that the man wouldn't be able to get out without being discovered by the cameras, and that the two of them would be taking shifts at the monitors (along with L, who had volunteered for the job), Mello still wasn't satisfied.

So instead, he had taken to following Mikami around everywhere he went—as he was doing right now.

It was, put quite bluntly, fucking boring. All the man did was either sit in his room or wander around, but that appeared to be it. He never tried to leave once after Mello told him not to, which at least satisfied the blonde to an extent. The man seemed willing to listen. All in all, Mikami came across as…normal, if not utterly boring.

Too normal.

Mello followed him down the hallway, already knowing that he was heading towards the room he had chosen as his. Was he going to sleep right _now_? At this time of day? Or maybe he was just wandering again…

The blonde stayed concealed behind the wall that rounded the corner. He released the breath he had been holding when the bespectacled man went inside, and stepped soundlessly towards his door. He placed his ear on the wood, straining to detect any hint of sound or movement from within. There was nothing; Mikami stayed as silent as death, apart from the distant shuffling noise of someone sitting down. Soon after, the blonde managed to pick up a slight shift in the man's breath pattern; he had fallen asleep, from what he could tell.

_Well that was a whole lot of nothing_, he thought in irritation, letting his ear linger on the closed door for a few more minutes. _I should go take over Matt's shift now. I'll come back later and—_

Mello silenced his thoughts when he detected a noise issuing from below him.

_What the hell was that?_ It sounded to him like a quiet shuffling—the echo of footsteps.

He followed them, uncomfortable with allowing anything to go unchecked—even if it was probably just one of the others moving about. Mello followed the noise downstairs, moving stealthily and carefully to silence his footfalls. The bottom floor was only one staircase down; when he got there, he paused. Adrenaline surged through his veins. The noises sounded as though they were coming from his garage—the only place, Mello recalled, where there were blind spots on the cameras.

Without hesitation, the blonde threw open the door and burst outside—only to see nothing but his bike staring back at him.

He took a deep breath, not permitting his muscles to relax—and then, confusion overcame him when he noticed something else.

A puddle of liquid was glistening beneath his bike, shimmering softly in the scant light that filtered through the roof. Mello took a few hesitant steps toward it, then knelt down and dipped his fingers in. With a quick sniff, the blonde's nose scrunched up in distaste.

"Gasoline," he mumbled in confusion. Why was his bike leaking? Had an animal gotten to it, or something? He couldn't recall any wild animals that liked the taste of gasoline, much less wanted to steal it. Then a thought occurred to him: What if an infected person was nearby? Though, to be honest, he had never heard of a crazy doing something like this either... "Dammit."

He went back the way he came, not looking forward to asking Matt to do repairs—but at least nothing else seemed to be amiss.

At least, not until he heard the subtle_ squish_ when he took a step back inside the station.

"The fuck?" Mello glanced downwards, seeing that his foot was planted in a puddle of the same odorous liquid that had leaked from his bike. Momentary panic seized him as he saw that the puddle continued up the staircase.

No animal that he had ever seen had opposable thumbs—so how had it gotten inside the building?

And suddenly, it clicked.

Mello heard Matt's voice over the speakers just as he made a mad dash up the stairs.

"_Mello! Someone got inside the station! They came through the back way!" _

_Fuck! _

As soon as the blonde made it to the second floor, he stopped dead in his tracks—as did the trail of gasoline.

A man stood in front of him, one he had never seen before but who bore an uncanny resemblance to Ryuuzaki. The entire hallway stank of gasoline, which ran in thick lines down the length of carpet that the blonde could see.

And in the man's hands were two items: A plastic container, one that reeked of the same liquid that was pooled at Mello's feet…

…and a lit match.

"_Matt!"_ the blonde man screamed as loud as he could. _"Take the emergency exit NOW!" _

Before Mello could say anything else, the man dropped the match.

* * *

**I hope that didn't piss anybody off. I know, I know, I keep teasing you guys with hopes of L and Lana finally getting together, and I always ruin it. That's just the kind of mean person I am. But on the bright side, when it finally **_**does**_** happen, it'll be that much better, right? **

**Please don't **_**flame**_** me, lol. Too soon? Hehe. **

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	24. Help & Hellfire

**Author's Note: I felt bad for how I left you guys hanging last chapter, so hopefully this one makes up for it! This chapter is kind of all over the place, but that's the way it's supposed to be. **

** To Raspberry Diamonds: No comment…and thank you! However, I will agree to the fact that B is a sadistic bastard, but of course we all know that, right? :)**

** To WildfireDreams: You'll see :) I hope this ends up surprising you somewhat!**

** To version15: Thanks! And of course everyone's going to be involved one way or the other. I like it when stories bring together all the characters; it just sort of ties everything together, you know? **

** To CainToYourAbel: Thank you! I'm happy to be one year older. There's a good reason why this story is in third person, and it has to do with the whole "Walls are closing in" phenomenon; I didn't want it to be like other stories where it's always first person, because that negates a lot of the dramatic irony. Here, you get glimpses of what is happening, which makes it even more suspenseful when the main character doesn't know what's going on. **

**To garnet86: Sorry! And no, they never get a break. There always has to be something crazy going down. As I said in my Author's Note above, I hope this chapter makes it up to you a little. (But I am glad that you think it's exciting anyway!) **

**Warnings: Severe Violence, Profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 24: Help &amp; Hellfire**

Lana's hand came up to tangle itself in L's shaggy hair, aiming to pull the detective in closer than was humanly possible. He allowed her, to the woman's eternal shock, to manipulate him—most likely because he simply didn't know what else to do in this unfamiliar situation. After all, she was as sober right now as she was ever going to be, and _definitely_ more sober than she had been when she had come onto him the first time. As a matter of fact, Lana planned on never drinking again after _that_ fiasco. The dark-haired woman would like to keep what remained of her dignity.

And so, L had no logical reason to reject her advances. But, of course, the scarred woman should have realized, he would always manage to find an excuse. No loophole would go unexplored by the detective.

Or perhaps that was just her frustration venting itself.

"Lana," L mumbled through their entangled lips. "It is not appropriate for us to be doing this here. This is Matt's workspace."

Growing increasingly frustrated, Lana pulled away from the infuriating man. "Seriously?" she practically snarled. "Learn to live a little, L."

"I know how to live quite well," he argued back, settling his hands on her shoulders when she tried to lean in towards him again. "But I do not believe this is the proper location to do so."

The young woman rolled her eyes, willing to admit to herself that he may have a point…but not to him. With mischief in her mind, she slid his hands off of her shoulders. As L watched with dumbstruck eyes, Lana dragged his long-fingered hands across her torso, allowing them to skim over the sides of her breasts and ribs until they came to rest on her slender waist. This was familiar, she realized; it seemed that he always needed some sort of provocation to touch her, a guiding hand in order to compel him to graze his hands across her skin. And even when she did, the pale man always seemed to sabotage it, to find fault in their actions that no one else would have bothered to address. No matter how voluntary her actions were, he refused to humor her. Most people would appreciate such a gesture, believing it to be a result of sensitivity, but Lana found it utterly annoying at this point.

"You can touch me, L," she insisted harshly. "I want you to." Her frustration was practically oozing out of her voice.

The detective was about to respond, but he was rudely interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

_Shit._

The two people on the sofa stared at the intruder—with horror, Lana realized that it was none other than Matt, who was now openly staring at the couple with an expression not dissimilar to someone witnessing a car crash.

L immediately detached himself from Lana, who quickly scrambled over to the opposite end of the couch. The brunette was flushed as he made eye contact with her, and the dark-haired woman cursed both her and happenstance for allowing Matt to walk in on them. He _really_ didn't need to see this. She had thought that he would at least knock before coming back in.

"I…I just came to check the monitors," he told them quietly, inching over to his desk.

_Shit._ She should say something, make this better somehow—well, not better, but at least less awkward. Yeah—as if _that_ would happen. Why the hell did anyone put up with her?

"Matt—"

"What the hell?" the brunette exclaimed, his face suddenly mere inches from one of the screens. "How—?"

"What is it?" Lana asked, put off by Matt's suddenly stiff and panicked demeanor. What the hell was going on?

The brunette seemed not to hear her, for he merely picked up the microphone and began to broadcast to the rest of the station.

"_Mello!"_ he cried in panic. "_Someone got in the station! They came through the back way!_"

A few tense moments passed, leaving all three of them stuck in a disconcerting silence until Lana heard Mello cry out distantly, his voice muffled by the floor between them.

"_Matt! Take the emergency exit NOW!"_

Then, as the dark-haired woman stepped forward to catch a glimpse of the monitor, the screen erupted into a raging inferno. Smoke and yellow flames filled the camera screen, obscuring all view of the blonde man. Lana's mouth fell open in horror, and she was eerily reminded of the event that had taken place at Waterfront.

Had B come here to finish the job—the "job" being L's death?

Of course, she already knew the answer.

"Mello!" Matt boomed, interrupting Lana's disquieting thought. His fevered eyes scanned over the other screens in search of his blonde friend, but the man was nowhere in sight. All that any of them could see was a flash of darkness, a black silhouette dashing from one screen to the next. "Where are you, man?"

"It's B," L observed quietly, his voice grim. "Mello is correct. We must get out of here as quickly as possible. Lana, grab the rations. We have to get out while we can. I cannot approach him on these terms."

"_No!"_ the brunette exclaimed, grabbing the detective by the front of his shirt. "We aren't leaving without Mello!" He turned to run for the door, but was stopped by a feminine hand when Lana surged forward and grabbed his arm in a firm grip.

"Are you crazy?" she asked him. "Don't go out there by yourself!"

The brunette fought against the scarred woman's grip, turning his fierce gaze onto her. "Let go of me, Lana! I'm going out there to find Mello. _I'm_ his friend! You need to go find Near and Itzel and get out of here." His eyes bored into hers with desperation, silently begging the woman to release him.

"Matt," L said coldly, his voice tinged with deadly seriousness. "That is not going to happen. Look at the cameras."

Both Matt and Lana turned to do as L said, the negative suspense almost disarming when they saw the image on the screen.

Lana's heartbeat picked up abruptly when she saw what L had been pointing out.

It was him. It was B.

He had found them.

The strange man was standing in the center of the camera, his eyes glued to the door right in front of him. No one in the studio made a sound, none of them being overly eager to alert the serial killer to their presence. Even Matt, who had been all but screaming a few moments ago, was now deathly silent. A cold flush ran across the surface of Lana's skin, her nerve ends tingling with a disturbing, eerie sensation that completely wiped out all but one thought in her mind.

B was here. He had found them.

And this thought was made all the more intense by the sudden, disarming realization that the door in the monitor's frame, the one that the serial killer was staring at so intently…

…was theirs.

He was right outside the door.

Lana backed up, dragging Matt along with her. She was careful not to make a single sound. Did he know where they were? Had he heard Matt screaming a few moments ago? Was he listening to see if they were in here? Should they hide? He was only one man, for crying out loud! Lana had disarmed people with weapons before…granted, they were not infamous serial killers. And L had stressed that this man was extremely dangerous, someone to be feared, and that he would not have come alone to confront them unless he was confident that he would be able to get away.

So what were they supposed to do?

The dark-haired woman turned to the detective for guidance, her bicolored eyes wide and questioning. She knew that he could not read her mind, but she was certain that he understood her thoughts regardless.

_What should we do, L? We have to get the hell out of here! _

The man stared back at her with a stiff expression, and shook his head slowly.

_What the hell does that mean? That we should do nothing? But why?_ Nothing was a difficult thing to do, especially when the shaggy-haired serial killer who had killed countless people at Waterfront and planned to do God knows what else began to twist the doorknob slowly, eliciting ancient-sounding_ creaks_ from the wood as he coaxed the door open…

Lana flexed her fists. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she met B's eyes for the first time.

And she would be damned if she said that she wasn't unhinged.

The man's orbs were cold and stagnant, a beady black hue full of nothing but a hollow flicker of life. They were framed by sparse lashes, and a frown seemed to be woven permanently into the man's skin. In appearance, B looked remarkably similar to L, but now, up close, Lana detected the differences that she was not able to see in Agent Misora's picture.

Though the two looked alike—the thought stirred her stomach to nausea—at the same time, they didn't. The detective possessed a certain depth to his eyes, an honest integrity that shone especially at times when he utilized his intellect. B shared a degree of that depth; he retained a quality of intelligence that was obvious to the scarred woman, but his orbs were also deepened by an emotion that even Lana could not help but to shiver in response to.

Excitement—a pure, primal feeling, instigated by chaos and fulfilled by the fear of others. When the monster met her eyes, her stomach sank. Not a soul in the room moved as the maniac's gaze drifted across the three of them, skimming over Matt with disinterest but lingering hotly on both Lana and L, who were standing close enough to almost touch.

B pursed his lips, sighing tiredly before his shadowy eyes lit up with genuine interest. When he spoke, Lana felt her body shake with imperceptible tremors.

"I have found," the man started, his black eyes lingering on a point above their heads, "that in my travels, I much prefer to be in the company of the living. The dead who walk, who are left with nothing but violent anger and fear, are as entertaining to observe as mere animals. I grew out of such trivial things when I was young. Only the living, the survivors, are worth the trouble. The expression in their eyes as the life drains from them…is a virtue lost on the rabid beasts that populate this city. It makes me wonder if what I'm doing is worth it. But then I remember…" He withdrew his hands from his pockets, revealing to the trio a knife that glinted silver in the scant light. Lana tensed at the gesture, resisting the inclination to take another step backward.

"No matter how many people fall prey to illness, there will always be those that will remain human, who will remain corrupted. And it is these people who I want to spend my punishing time on Earth with." His mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile, an insane grin that looked far too out of place on his contorted features. "It is nice to be among the living once again."

At that moment, Mikami came skidding to a halt behind B, clutching his heaving sides with his hands. His face was framed by cracked glasses, which had most likely been broken in his attempt to escape the flames downstairs.

"A fire has broken out downstairs!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "We must get out of—"

_Snap_.

Matt and Lana watched with horror, L with disturbed indifference, as without even bothering to use the knife, B took hold of Mikami's head. He twisted his neck sideways, causing a loud _crack _to fill the room.

The man was dead before he hit the ground.

And still, the cold, unfeeling expression in B's eyes remained.

* * *

Unbearable heat erupted around Mello's body, momentarily blinding the young man when his eyes snapped shut against the onslaught of the relentless light. He growled loudly in anger, throwing an arm up over his mouth and nose to avoid breathing in the toxic smoke.

"Fuck," he mumbled, disoriented by the rapid and deadly shift in atmosphere. A single thought permeated his bubble of confusion, bringing the blonde some much-needed clarity within his crisis.

_That bastard! Ryuuzaki…no, it wasn't Ryuuzaki. Who the fuck was that? It…it must've been the crazy guy Lana told me about. The one who's after them…_

Dimly, Mello recalled that the identity of the man didn't matter at the moment. That insane arsonist was probably going after the others right now—but he would get to them over the blonde's dead body.

Ignoring the stinging sensation in his eyes and throat, Mello took a tentative step forward, grimacing and releasing a pain-filled curse as he felt the nearby flames lap at his bare skin. Where were they? He couldn't see them; there was too much smoke. When he took a step to the side and encountered another searing pain in his arm, the man jumped back, forcing his burning eyes all the way open only to see that he was completely boxed in by a towering inferno. This must have been the man's plan; to trap him in a cage of fire so that he could not help the others. He was smarter than the usual thug, that was for sure.

But now what was Mello supposed to do? The flames around him reached almost to the ceiling, and were starting to lick away at the upper floor's foundation, causing the wood and plaster above his head to creak and crackle.

When he tried to open his mouth for a curse, he ended up coughing harshly instead, the sound too much for his scorched throat to handle. _Fuck_, he thought again, the irritation almost becoming unbearable. Through his squinted blue eyes, Mello managed to trace out a possible path between the flames that would hopefully take him to a safer area of the hallway—or at least away from this hellhole. He began the maneuver tentatively, too distracted by the unceasing noise of hungry fire to pay any attention to the yawning above his head…until a large section of the ceiling collapsed right above him, its structure already severely weakened by the raging flames.

Mello saw the falling debris just in time, but not in time to escape unscathed. He released another curse as he dove haphazardly out of harm's way, avoiding most of the material but for a piece of plaster that clipped his left arm. The impact sent him tumbling down to the floor. As he landed harshly on the carpet, the blonde cried out, the sound muffled by his own arm. He landed on a patch of rug that was already being consumed by the inferno, and seared his skin on the hot material. Mello darted reflexively away from the spot, but it was too late—the damage had already been done, and his arm was now covered in what felt like a third-degree blister.

It was now extremely difficult to deduce where he was, what direction he was facing, or even where the nearest door was, but Mello was still fairly certain that his clothes were on fire. He could feel the intense heat crawling up his pant leg, burning the skin raw as he struggled in vain to put it out with his hands. Everywhere he looked, every direction he went in, there was now more fire, eager to use him as material for its continuous consumption of the building. How was he going to get out of this one?

Mello coughed raggedly as smoke began filling his lungs with ash and particulates, and holding his shirt over his mouth and nose did nothing to assuage the pain and discomfort. The scent was too strong to ignore, the copious smoke far too thick to see anything beyond two feet in front of him.

As he tried without success to find a way to escape the rapidly growing flames, he began to fall prey to the smoke. Fuzziness danced around the corners of his vision, filling the blonde with a sickening woozy sensation. He fell to his knees.

_No, dammit! Don't you fucking pass out!_ If he lost consciousness, it would all be over for him. He would be lost to the smoke and the flames, and his body would be reduced to nothing more than a pile of charred bones and flesh. He would be nothing—just gone, erased from existence without even being able to save the only person he actually gave a damn about. Well, the second person, technically—but the other one was long gone. She had been dead for over seven years already.

As the smoke continued to build up in his lungs, Mello's legs finally gave out entirely, and his hands reached down to support his body with a dull _thud_. The flames seemed to rear back around him, gaping wide like a hungry maw that was eager to devour him. The dizziness and nausea finally got to him, and he retched violently onto the carpet, gagging on the horrid stench of burnt hair and clothes. His hair was singed, he realized.

_Well, shit. _

With his weakening limbs no longer able to support him, Mello fell forward, rolling around onto his back as his body went limp. Through the haze of fire and his receding consciousness, the blonde finally allowed his body to relax—not that there was anything much he could have done otherwise. One concrete thought, however, reverberated around in his brain.

Was it his turn to die now? Everyone else he had known was dead, apart from Matt, so it only made sense that one of them would get snuffed out eventually as well. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon, or so sudden. Then again, Mello never expected death. He never expected much of anything; not the virus breaking out, not finding a friend in his old roommate from the group home, not meeting the girl who had tried so hard to be his friend, to teach him Spanish, and to teach him about himself as well…and he had certainly never expected to see her be killed right before his eyes. Perhaps it was fitting, then, that his last coherent thought would be of her, and of the greatest mistake he had ever allowed himself to make.

* * *

"Mello?"

He heard her voice, of course, but he pretended that he didn't. He was busy right now. Although the streets outside were crowded with unpleasant noises and scenes, some of them screams, some of them profanities, he could not tear his eyes away from the carnage. Someone had even set fire to the shop on the corner.

_Go figure_, Mello thought cynically. _Panic makes people do fucked up things. _

"Mello?" Emilia asked again, her tone full of worry. "Que estas haciendo?"

He almost smiled then, but restrained himself in time to force his rigid expression to remain in place. "Nada." He stood up, allowing the floral curtains to flutter shut against the window. "No vaya afuera."

The young woman, now sixteen years old, nodded at him when he turned around. Mello flushed when he took notice of a befuddled Matt standing behind her.

"When did you learn to speak Spanish?" the brunette asked, his expression aghast at his friend's newfound ability to speak two languages.

"None of your business. Let's go." The blonde addressed the latter half of his statement to Emilia, who reentered the spacious living room along with the two males. The once-large space now looked far too small, cramped and cluttered with the sheer amount of teenagers and children who had been stuffed into it. When the riots first broke out, the proprietor of the group home had moved everyone downstairs before promptly leaving. He wasn't back yet, though he had promised that he would return after getting some rations.

Mello didn't have very high hopes. If the man hadn't already been killed by the rampaging hordes outside, then the blonde was betting that he had just abandoned them. Who could afford to take care of a bunch of quasi-independent kids who were technically wards of the state? No one in this situation would even bother. And it sure as hell wouldn't be the first time an adult had let the kids here down—nor would it be the last.

Rafael spotted Emilia as soon as she reentered the room, and he ran to his sister with a panicked look on his face. He buried his head into her stomach, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist as though he had not seen her in years.

"Hermana," he wailed, his voice muffled by her clothing.

In response, the brown-skinned woman wove her fingers into his hair, compelling the young boy to look up at her.

"Que paso? Estas bien?" she asked him gently.

"Are we going to die?" he whispered in well-practiced English, his chocolate eyes flicking over to address Mello as well.

"Eh? Quien dijo que?" his sister demanded.

"Un niño mayor."

Emilia shook her head angrily, her deep brown eyes fierce as she glanced around the room. Mello found himself almost cracking a smile as she reassured her younger brother.

"No," she asserted. "We will be fine, Rafael. Esta tranquilo, niño."

Matt looked on with a snarky grin as Mello stuck close to the two siblings, his stance overly protective. But despite Emilia's confident assurances, from elsewhere in the room, worried murmurs began to turn into panicked cries as the muted noises outside began to grow louder. The sound of horrified screaming and screeching metal caused some of the younger kids to let out screams of their own.

"Where's the owner?" one boy called out, addressing no one in particular. "When's he gonna come back for us?"

"He ain't comin' back, you nitwit!" a bald teenager called out, his blue eyes cold as ice as he glared at the younger boy. "He left us here and saved his own fucking skin."

Contrary to reassuring them, the bald kid's statement only incited more panic in the crowd, and now the pitiful wails of the younger ones began to grow louder. Rafael fisted Emilia's skirt, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.

As the internal chaos increased, Mello did something that he would never have expected from himself, as antisocial and reclusive as he was. His eye caught sight of a table that sat in front of the fireplace, surrounded by several kids who were small and lacking any older siblings to take care of them. They clutched the legs of the table with white-knuckled fists, some of them crying, some of them with disturbingly blank faces.

The blonde forced his way through the throng of people, ignoring the painstaking sounds of young children and even some teenagers who were sobbing incoherently. He hefted himself up onto the table, standing far above the rest of the crowd, and shouted above the deafening noise.

"Listen up!"

At the sound of his voice, everything went silent save for a few lingering murmurs. Satisfied with the relative quiet, Mello cleared his throat.

"Everyone just calm down," he said slowly. "Panicking will only make things worse. We have to stay calm and keep our damn heads together. If we just stay here and wait it out—"

"Bullshit!" an enraged voice interrupted.

Mello searched for and found the kid's face in the crowd; it was the same bald boy from earlier, the one who had told the other kid that the owner had abandoned them. Said boy stepped forward, parting the crowd so that he was only a few feet away from the blonde.

He glared intensely at Mello, his lips pursed in an unkind sneer. "If we stay here we're gonna die. We have to get the fuck out." He lifted the corner of his shirt, revealing the butt of a colt sticking out of his pants. "I got a gun. I can shoot down anyone in the streets who tries to fuck with me. I can take care of myself—is anybody with me?"

When nobody answered or stepped forward, the boy merely scoffed. "You're all a bunch of fucking pussies. I'm getting the fuck outta here." The kid started to make his way towards the door, a tense pout written on his features.

Against his better judgment, Mello tried to reason with him. "Wait, you fucking idiot! You shouldn't go out there alone! You could—"

The blonde stopped talking when a flicker of movement caught his attention. Emilia separated Rafael from her skirt, pushing the boy behind her as she stepped directly into the bald kid's path. She set her jaw firmly, spreading her arms wide so as to inhibit any attempts to push past her.

"Please," she said softly, her voice gentle and imploring. "Do as he says. Stay here."

For a second, the boy's face softened; he hesitated, but quickly shook his head and hardened his eyes once again. "Get outta my way, woman!" He reached out to push the brown-skinned girl aside, grabbing her harshly by the front of her shirt.

Mello was by her side in an instant. Without thinking, the blonde grabbed the boy's hand in a strong grip, his fingers reaching all the way around the circumference of his wrist.

"What the fuck, man? Get your hands off me!"

He didn't. When Mello refused to relinquish his grip, the boy began to struggle, releasing low-pitched growls as he attempted to twist his arm out of the blonde's hand.

"Let go of me! Let _go_!"

"Stop squirming and I'll do it!" Mello cried out, trying to grab ahold of the boy's other arm.

Then, suddenly, he froze.

Before he could release a cry of warning, Mello saw the kid's other hand descend into the front of his pants.

"_Stop!"_

"Let _go_!"

"Mello—"

_Bang. _

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Mello saw the trigger being pulled. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable pull of death as the bullet lodged between his lungs…

The sound of a child screaming alerted the blonde to the fact that he was very much alive. He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see a large crack where the bald kid had fired a bullet into the wall.

Instead, he was greeted with a scene that would haunt him until the end of his days.

Blood began to bloom, pooling from the obvious bullet wound that had penetrated Emilia's chest.

Emilia.

He had shot _Emilia_.

As Mello looked on in horror, Rafael continued to scream as he hugged his sister around the waist. While he watched, still holding onto the bald kid's arm, she made eye contact with him.

What Mello saw in her brown eyes was pain, pain and fear that would stay with him whenever he thought of her.

_Oh, God_.

"I—" the bald kid stuttered. "I didn't mean to, I just—she just—"

A drop of blood beaded at the corner of her mouth, and at the same moment it began to roll off of her chin, she toppled.

"_Emilia!_"

* * *

His consciousness was fading fast. Mello didn't think that he would be able to hold out much longer, not with the confusion and columns of smoke and fire around him. It looked like this really was the last stop for him. At least this way he wouldn't have to watch his best friend die as well.

_Sorry, Matt. Looks like you're on your own._

As the blonde perched on the edge of sleep, the flames began to lick up the side of his body, burning through his clothes and layers of pale skin. He couldn't help it; with his remaining strength and the little air that remained in his lungs, Mello screamed.

He yelled his throat raw, unable to move to even attempt to bat the flames away from his weakening body. Doing so would only prolong the inevitable anyway.

Suddenly everything went quiet around him, the sounds now muted to his ears. Pain was dulled as well, though his nerves still remained aflame. He was just unable to voice it. Even the roar of the fire turned to a distant crackle.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, muffled voices met the blonde's ears.

"_Shit!" _

Through the haze, the blonde felt the sensation of cloth whipping at his body, smothering him as it doused soft touches all over his skin. Though the pain remained, throbbing all over like a second heartbeat, some of the heat went away.

"_Help me, ya idiot!" _

"_Who is this man, Itzel?" _

"_A friend. Now get the hell over here, Mogi! Grab 'is legs. You step aside, kid. We gotta get the fuck outta this place." _

"_He…he doesn't look good. Are you sure he's still alive?" _

"_He sure as hell better be! No shit, he looks like crap. Hurry the fuck up! He'll be fine if we get 'im outta here. I got out, didn't I?" _

"_I know, but half of your face wasn't burned, Itzel." _

"_So what? This guy's strong, Mogi. He'll pull through. He ain't gonna go out so easy." _

Just as Mello felt himself being lifted into the air, darkness finally claimed him.

* * *

Matt watched in horror as Mikami fell lifeless to the floor, his glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling with a disturbingly twisted neck. His head was nearly angled sideways, and though the brunette knew that he should be paying attention to the insane man standing in front of him, he couldn't manage to take his eyes off of the dead man's corpse. There was no question that this "B" was extremely dangerous. _This_ was the guy who Lana and Ryuuzaki were chasing? They had told him that B was a force to be reckoned with, but this…the man had just killed Mikami with his bare hands, without even flinching.

And the three of them were completely unarmed.

_Where are you, Mello? _

"How boring," B observed quietly, staring down at Mikami's corpse with a lackluster expression. "He didn't even put up a fight."

"What are you doing here, B?" Ryuuzaki piped up, his question coming across as primarily rhetorical. "What is your goal?"

B cocked his head. "Are you referring to my overall goal, or are you asking why I came here to find _you, _L?"

Matt's eyes ballooned in proportion. L? As in the famous detective L, the one who single-handedly solved the world's most difficult cases? The same one who Mello wanted to emulate in his youth? There was no way that was Ryuuzaki…

"Hmm…the second one," Ryuuzaki said. "I already know the answer to the first."

_Is he stalling, or something? If he is, well…I'd better make the best of it_, Matt thought, still shaken up by B's teasing lilt. His green eyes darted discreetly around the room, searching for anything that could conceivably be used as a weapon. He scanned the walls, the shelves, and the desk, but nothing stood out to him.

Then, as he tilted his head at a certain angle, the gleam of an object black and shiny caught his eye. It was stuffed partially under the desk, hanging on a hook that had been glued to the underside of the table. It was Mello's shotgun; he had left it there when he went to spy on Mikami.

Matt's breath caught in his throat. Mello's gun… Sure, the brunette knew how to use it, and he was aware that the blonde always kept it loaded, but…would he really be able to shoot and kill someone if he had to? Could he do what Mello did in order to keep him and the others safe?

Or was he too much of a coward?

Matt glanced to his side, at Lana, as she stood listening to B and Ryuuzaki fight their war of words. She seemed to be getting antsier by the minute as the insane man explained the reasoning for his actions.

"Of course I came here to kill you, L," B said, completely nonchalant and further fueling Matt's disbelief that the odd man beside him could really be a famous detective. "But there is something else I've had my eye on for a while now. Your…acquaintance…you care for her, don't you? She _is_ quite interesting to look at. It almost makes me regret all the time I spent taking apart people of lesser caliber."

The man's cold eyes found Lana, who shot him a disbelieving glare that did nothing to conceal her nervousness. As Matt watched in growing anger, B's lips curled upward into a bizarre smile.

"Perhaps I should take her with me, then."

It was in this moment, when the insane man threatened the woman beside him, when Matt realized something important; he knew that he could do it. He _would _be able to kill him—to save the others.

To save Lana.

He took a deep breath, and lunged for the gun.

* * *

**Translations:**

Que estas haciendo: What are you doing?

Nada: Nothing

No vaya afuera: Don't go outside

Que paso: What happened?

Estas bien(?): Are you okay?

Quien dijo que: Who said that?

Un niño mayor: An older kid.

Esta tranquilo, niño: Be calm, boy.

**How was that? Was that intense enough for you? As you can tell, there are still a lot of unresolved issues. I'm not very good at estimating, but at this point I'm going to say that there might be around six to nine chapters after this one. (How the epilogue fits into that, I'm still trying to figure out.) I'm leaning more towards nine myself, but we'll see. I have the outline ready, but it might end up being longer or shorter than I think, so…let's keep on going!**

** —Vicious Ventriloquist**


	25. Weaker in Numbers

**Author's Note: Good God. There's a theatre right outside where I live and a lot of concerts are held there, so I have been kept awake at night constantly by the sound of loud music. At least it's good music most of the time. It softens the blow afforded to me by a lack of sleep. **

**My apologies for the ridiculous amount of tension that has been in these last few chapters. I love to torture the readers, but even I have my limit! Please enjoy this chapter :)**

** To WildfireDreams: No promises! You know how this story goes…though I agree, I wouldn't want to see Matt die a second time either. **

** To RaspberryDiamonds: You're welcome! I tend to respond to all the reviews I get just to make it fair. I'm happy you like this story :) And a meeting between B and Light would be very tension-fueled, wouldn't it? They are both highly intelligent, and extremely backhanded and intimidating people. (Though Light is probably more backhanded.)**

** To version15: I planned to kill off Mikami from the start, I'll admit. We can't have Light win so easily, can we? I won't answer your question about Matt, though…leave some mystery to the story and all that…**

** To CainToYourAbel: Lol. I actually **_**have **_**kicked a table over in my frustration with Death Note. It's nice to know that this frustration translates over to the fanfiction world as well! Speaking of…well, nothing, really, did you like Mello's backstory so far?**

** I'm glad you liked B's monologue, haha. It took me a while to go over it and correct everything! **

** To garnet86: I know! I'M SORRY! I trust that this chapter should resolve most of the tension from the last few. **

** And you're welcome :)**

** Warnings: Violence, Profanity, Mature Content, Angst. **

* * *

**Chapter 25: Weaker in Numbers**

_People will often tell you that when something really awful happens, something that you could have potentially avoided—a car crash, a robbery, someone you care for getting hurt—time will slow down. It sounds ludicrous, but they will say that things move in slow motion, and you'll be able to see everything happening around you as clearly as if it were a tape being rewound again and again. But no matter how slow things seem to be, you won't be able to move. Your body will freeze up, too distracted by the horror it's witnessing to do anything to stop it. That last part may have some truth to it, actually. Your body does freeze up—at least, mine does. _

_ But I don't think time ever slows down, not in the real world. My experience has always been of time speeding up when something bad happens. That would make more sense, wouldn't it? When someone you love gets hurt, it isn't like getting in a fight, where things look slow because you're moving so fast. I moved fast; I could find someone's weak spot, an opening in their defense, and exploit it. That was my specialty. Anyway, I don't count fights as something horrible. They're a fact of life. _

_ But when someone else gets hurt…it isn't like that. It just isn't. I used to think it was, before I knew anything about anything. Time and experience showed me what an idiot I was. (Still am.) _

_Things speed up when a person you care for is in trouble. Time moves so fast that you think it's impossible for you to have done anything in the first place. And because of that hesitation, that disbelief in what's happening, you do nothing. _

_Time moves fast. And anyone who tells you otherwise doesn't know what the hell they're talking about. _

_ Trust me on that. _

* * *

There was a strange smell in the air. It was faint at first, just barely noticeable amid the suffocating bubble of stagnant air that had been trapped inside the room for God knows how long. The stale environment overrode the odor for a while; however, as time passed, it began to tickle Light's nostrils, irritating the man and causing his throat to fall prey to an insufferable itch.

The sensation was all too familiar to the bronze-haired man, seeing as it had not been too long ago that his own building had reeked of a strikingly similar stench. He knew what the smell was. It was smoke, and surely the tickle in his throat must have been incited by ash that had managed to sneak into the room through the cracks under the door and window.

This should not have been surprising. Fires were not uncommon in the Los Angeles region, particularly now that there were no longer any firemen to control them should they break out, but Light did not believe for a second that this was just the byproduct of a far-off brushfire in the hills. Call it paranoia, call it intuition, but Light had a suspicious feeling that this was somehow related to the incident at Waterfront.

He was proven correct not long after this thought occurred to him, though this hardly surprised the man; he was accustomed to being right about most things he set his mind to.

"Light!" Takada called from the window, where she stood with her head obscured behind the curtains. "You should come see this."

With narrowed eyes, he did as she requested, ignoring the fact that the young woman was scantily clad in a paper-thin robe that she had found in one of the drawers. She wore nothing else, courtesy of their brief tryst a few hours ago, despite the fact that he had redressed himself almost immediately after.

She turned to glance worriedly at him as he approached.

"Look outside," she told him, backing away so as to let him see the view from her perspective.

As he took her place at the window, Light allowed his eyes to scrutinize the building across the street. It took him a moment to pinpoint what the brunette was talking about, but when he did, he bit his tongue in order to avoid whispering a curse under his breath.

It was faint, and anyone else most likely would have ignored it, but Light did not have the luxury of indifference in this situation. There was smoke wafting from behind the radio station, climbing in great pillars toward the sky. Even from this distance, it was plain to see that there was far too much smoke spilling from behind the structure for the building to be considered safe.

What was going on? Surely, neither Emerson nor Ryuuzaki would have voluntarily set fire to the building; it must have been an accident. But how could an accidental fire have gotten so out of control? Had they not realized that a fire had broken out? If a candle had fallen and ignited a curtain or the carpet, one of them would have noticed…

A light-bulb suddenly went off in Light's head. If there were an electrical power source there, then it was entirely possible that a freak accident or short could have occurred while they were not watching. Light's eyes widened. A radio station…an electrical power source…a blonde man whom he did not know, one who had been seen with Emerson and Ryuuzaki…

Could it be that Stripes lived there? Was that who the blonde man was, the one who Mikami had reportedly seen them with? That would explain the electricity theory; Stripes had to be well-versed in technology in order to keep a radio station up and running.

And speaking of Mikami…if he was somehow involved in this faux pas, he would pay even more dearly by Light's hand. Or, as he had originally planned, by Takada's. This fire had the potential to send all of Light's plans into ruin. Thankfully, the bronze-haired man was confident that Emerson—and if not, it would be no great loss—and Ryuuzaki would be able to escape, since the smoke appeared to be concentrated at the back of the building. There must have been an emergency exit somewhere inside as well, so it was likely that the pair and the blonde man would make it out alive.

Until then, Light had no choice but to wait patiently for them to come out. There was no way that he was going to rush inside with the pretense of saving them, not after everything that had happened. For all they knew, he was the one who had started the fire, provided that they didn't do it themselves and were not keeping watch over the building's entrances and exits.

"What should we do, Light?" Takada asked, clutching her chest with a clenched fist.

"Nothing," he told her. "We will wait for them to come out. Until then, we do nothing."

To Takada, the young man radiated an aura of confidence. Yet on the inside, Light could not help but feel that something about this situation felt off…and at the same time, disturbingly familiar.

* * *

It seemed to Lana that whenever someone she cared about was in danger, she could never move quite fast enough to help them. Repeated failures, building up over a span of years, had taught her that. Her parents, her little brother, and even Itzel had suffered as a result of her inability to save others.

Now was no different.

As the scarred woman glanced at Matt out of the corner of her eye, she saw his telltale movements, the stiffening of his limbs, the tension in his back—all of which informed Lana of what he was about to do. She saw the shotgun at the same moment the brunette lunged for it, but of course, she did not manage to stop him.

She stood frozen as Matt dived towards the weapon, unable to even voice the young man's name as a cry of warning…

Just as the tips of Matt's fingers touched the gun, B was on him. Before the brunette could even properly aim the weapon, Lana saw an inhumanely fast glint of silver. An awful squishing sound pierced the woman's ears, sending currents of nausea roiling through her stomach. A scream built up at the back of her throat.

_"Matt!" _

As she watched in horror, B stood nose-to-nose with Matt, but she was unable to see anything beyond the pained expression on the latter's face…and the twist of anger in his eyes.

At that moment, a deafening_ boom _nearly blew out her eardrums. A large amount of wooden shards was blown out of Matt's desk, and B backed off immediately.

Matt had fired.

When the gun went off, the brunette cried out, the arm that was holding up the weapon dropping a bit.

"How interesting," B observed, his black eyes staring intently at Matt. "I did not think that he would be able to remain standing. The knife was quite long; his spastic movements must have set my aim off."

Lana's heart hammered against her sternum. What was he talking about?

What had he done to Matt?

Right then, the dark-haired woman realized that the knife in B's hand had disappeared. Or, more accurately, Lana thought as she stared in horror at the hilt protruding from Matt's side, he had given it to the brunette.

Matt breathed heavily, but his green eyes remained fierce. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here," he said, his voice raspy and strained with the effort it must have taken to remain on his feet rather than grasping his torso in agony. Blood ran down his side, soaking through his shirt and causing the young man to sway on his feet. He gripped the gun harder in response, his arms shaking as he tried to keep the weapon positioned properly.

B smiled, countering Matt's glare. "Are you going to shoot me?" he asked the brunette, almost sounding interested by the possibility.

Lana's jaw fell open. Did…did this guy _want_ to get shot? Or did he just think that Matt wouldn't be able to do it? She glanced over at L, whose impassive expression remained unchanged throughout the encounter.

Why weren't they _doing anything_?

Matt grunted as he hefted the gun upwards and tried to aim it at the serial killer. B just stood in the doorway with an intrigued mien, not looking bothered in the least by Matt's efforts to take him out. Both Lana and L were silent, watching with baited breath (or at least _she_ was) as Matt and B stared at each other. Both of them seemed to be waiting for the other to make a move.

Lana didn't know what to do. If she took the gun from Matt and tried to shoot B herself, the maniac might charge her while she was vulnerable. But if Matt didn't shoot soon, then he would just end up collapsing or passing out.

_What should we do, L? If you don't tell me, I'll have to do something myself…_

All of a sudden, she knew what she had to do. L would probably berate her later for it, provided they lived until then, but she didn't really give a damn right now.

"Matt," she said calmly. "Give me the gun."

He ignored her. Instead, his breathing picked up, and he growled under his breath as he lifted the gun with all of his strength.

"Goddammit, Matt—give me the gun! You aren't able to—"

"Yes I am." He aimed it shakily at B's head, but the serial killer appeared unconcerned.

"Matt!"

The brunette cocked the gun with shaking fingers, and with a rebounding force that sent him stumbling a few feet backwards, he fired.

B didn't even have to try to move. He merely stepped out of the way at the last second, and plaster shards rained from the large chunk that the bullet took out of the doorframe.

Matt cursed under his breath, discarding the used shell quickly.

_Click._

_Boom. _

He missed again.

Lana clenched her fists, nearly breaking her teeth with the force applied to her jaw. Was B…_playing_ with him?

_That…that bastard_. _Does he think this is funny_?

The third time he missed, Matt's grip on the gun loosened, and it fell toward the ground. A hand came around to grab at his wound, which now resembled a large, angry red plume on the man's side. He was breathing heavily, his legs almost unable to support his frame. Even so, he tried to raise the gun again, squeezing more scarlet out of his wound as he did so.

"Please stop, Matt," Lana told him softly.

Again, he ignored her.

As B watched the man struggle, he observed him calmly.

"This is unfortunate," he said as the brunette fought to aim the gun towards him again. "I no longer have my weapon, so it seems there isn't much I can do here at the moment. I have to say I am impressed with your resilience…Matt, isn't it?"

The compliment only earned him a harsh glare.

B pointedly ignored him, turning his gaze toward L and Lana. "I'll be leaving now. I'll see you both again soon…very soon, I suspect…though I'm not certain I can say the same about him." He inclined his head towards Matt. "Infection is a high risk these days, if you can manage to stop the flow of blood."

With that, B turned around and walked out. The maniac's sudden disappearance seemed to return the feeling to Lana's legs, and she dashed after him.

When she ran out of the room, the woman glanced down the hallway in both directions, but B was nowhere in sight. It was as though he were never even here.

Something occurred to her in that moment, something that she had forgotten about in the heat of the moment but which now made her blood run cold.

"Near! Itzel!" she called, desperation lacing her voice as the scent of burnt hair drifted to her on the wind. "Where are you? Near—" A coughing fit seized her then, courtesy of the smoke and ash in the air, as well as the toxic gases produced by the hungry flames she had seen on the camera screen.

_Where are the others? Did they get out already? Were they caught too close to the flames like Mello? Mello_…

"Lana."

The dark-haired woman whipped around at the sound of her name and almost collided with Near. The boy stood directly behind her, his usual brand of stoicism for the first time causing her to feel more thankful than anything else.

"Near," she said breathlessly, some of her anxiety blending into minor relief. "Are you okay?"

The white-haired boy nodded, looking no worse for wear aside from the ash that tainted his hair.

"Don't forget about us too, girly!"

The scarred woman could have cried when she saw Itzel sauntering up behind Near. However, relief turned quickly to confusion when she took note of who accompanied the Hispanic woman: a man who she hadn't seen in a long time, who for all she knew was long dead, was helping Itzel carry someone.

Lana's jaw dropped. "_Mogi_?"

The bulky ex-cop nodded towards her in greeting, but remained focused on the body he was carrying. The woman's attention was drawn to the unconscious person as well; she narrowed her eyes at the limp form, searching for a clue as to identity despite the fact that she knew it could only be one person.

She just didn't want to believe it.

Black clothing was criss-crossed with patches of angry red skin, some of it charred. The stench of burnt flesh and hair reached her nostrils at the same time that she caught a glimpse of blonde hair poking out from behind Itzel's torso. She couldn't see his face, but that hair and the boots that housed his feet were a dead giveaway.

"Mello," Lana choked out, horror dawning on her when she realized who it was. "Is he…dead?"

"Nope," Itzel said. "Found 'im in the hallway. He ain't doin' so good, though. He's burned pretty bad." The large woman grunted as she hefted the blonde's shoulders higher, causing his limp arms to wave morbidly toward the ground.

Lana almost threw up as the stench continued its assault on her nostrils. "Jesus," she said softly, covering her mouth and nose. She hated that smell with a passion.

"Where's everyone else?" Itzel asked. "We gotta get outta here before this place gets burnt through." The woman's eyes lingered towards the door, as did Mogi's and Near's, and her face tightened when she caught sight of the chaos inside the studio.

A pained groan issued from inside the room, pulling Lana back to reality.

"Matt!" she exclaimed, turning tail and running back into the studio. She narrowly avoided stepping on Mikami's body, which was lying halfway in front of the empty doorway. Once again, she felt sick to her stomach, and clenched her eyes shut as she nudged his corpse out of the way with her foot.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the brunette, who was trying unsuccessfully to stand. Mello's shotgun was lying on the ground a few feet away. Matt was on his knees beside the weapon; he must have collapsed right after she left the room.

With L's assistance, Matt had managed to get one foot planted on the ground, but he was balanced precariously on his knee. L had wrapped the other man's arm around his neck, and was trying without success to get him to his feet. Lana understood the hardship. Putting any sort of strain on Matt's upper body or abdomen—as standing up required—would undoubtedly jostle the knife that was embedded in his side. Any sort of movement probably hurt like hell. On the other hand, removing the knife would be suicide.

As she stared down at the pathetic scene, Matt glanced up at Lana with the most pained expression she had ever seen on a man's face—and she was sure that her horrified one was not doing anything to boost his morale. Shaking off her momentary paralysis, the scarred woman ran over to Matt's other side and knelt beside him. She propped his left arm around her neck, and wrapped her right one around his waist. Matt grunted in pain as her hand skimmed his ribcage, but gave not one word of protest.

"Near," L called out. The boy stepped into the room. "Grab as many bags of rations as you can carry. We must have food to survive on."

Completely ignoring Mikami's still body, Near did as he was told.

Lana took a deep breath. "Ready?" she said to L, who nodded back at her. The two stood up slowly, ignoring Matt's strained moans as they forced him to his feet.

"Sorry, Matt," Lana told him.

"It's fine," he gasped. "S'long as it's you helping me. Where…where's Mello?" He sounded disoriented when he spoke.

Lana's stomach sank. "He's…he's okay. Itzel found him. He's going to be okay." Saying such a thing made the woman feel like a liar, even if the blonde was still alive. She wasn't a doctor; she couldn't say for sure if he would pull through.

All she could do was lie and hope that she ended up being right.

The trio made it out the door behind Near, whose smaller form was almost swamped by the sheer amount of bags he had draped across his person. Lana nodded to Itzel, who kept a steady pace behind them as they shuffled hurriedly down the hall.

"Where's the emergency exit?" Lana asked of Matt, whose eyelids were already starting to droop.

"Down the hall…to the right. It's a flight of stairs…"

_Dammit. He's already losing too much blood. _

"Stay awake, idiot!" the woman snapped, her nerves eating away at her patience. "You can't afford to fall into a coma. Who else is going to rein in Mello when he goes apeshit, huh?" Her joke seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"He'll…be fine without me," Matt said, his voice growing fainter. "You'll be fine…"

Lana shook her head fiercely. "No! No I won't! Listen to me, Matt—I want you to stay alive. You aren't nearly old enough to be this goddamn cynical, all right? Do you hear me? Stay awake!"

L listened in absolute silence as the large group approached the staircase Matt had indicated—though, as she stared across the void at the brunette, willing him to remain conscious with mere words, Lana could not help but to notice the twinkle of emotion in his eye.

The journey downstairs was taxing on all of them and felt as though it took forever, especially considering the build-up of carbon monoxide in the air. Lana couldn't smell it, but she recognized the heavy feeling in her limbs and the dizzying sensation in her addled brain. She dimly recalled that most people who die in fires die because of smoke inhalation rather than the actual flames. The smoke gets you first, and the fire cleans up the mess afterwards…like a symbiotic relationship of death, the two worked hand in hand.

_Don't panic_, she told herself. _Don't panic. Panicking leads to heavy breathing, heavy breathing leads to inhaling more air, and that leads to dying quicker_…

Matt's weight seemed to double by the time they all made it downstairs. The dark-haired woman mentally thanked Near when the boy ran ahead of them and grabbed the heaviest object that he could lift—a small TV that sat unused on the front desk of the lobby. He hurled it through the window, taking out nearly the whole front of the building while he was at it. All of them, especially Itzel and Mogi, had to be extremely careful when walking through the gaping hole in order to avoid slicing themselves on the sharp glass.

When they were all outside, the group took a moment to stare forlornly up at the once-proud radio station. By this point, pillars of smoke were pouring from every second-floor window, and even some of the third-floor ones.

"I don't think a fire extinguisher woulda taken care a that," Itzel commented dryly.

"Don't have any," Matt said, his eyes lolling closed. "Cleared out by the time we got here."

"So there's nothing we can do," Mogi concluded.

"This is the end of Stripes," Near added, and L hummed thoughtfully.

"It appears so," the detective agreed.

The group took a moment of silence for the death of the station, a somber air hovering around all of them.

"So…" Lana said after a few seconds, "where are we gonna go now? I'm drawing a big fucking blank, and we need to get Mello and Matt some medical treatment." She shot a glance at the bloody hole in Matt's side, internally grimacing at the grisly wound.

"Don't worry," Mogi chimed in, meeting the young woman's gaze with a reassuring glance. "I know a safe place."

* * *

The group walked until the scorching sun settled overhead, and even then they did not stop. Intense heat seemed to slow their progress even further, as did the burden of carrying two severely injured men.

Sweat leaked from every pore on Lana's body—including areas that she didn't even know _could_ sweat—and she had to fight just to keep Matt from sliding out of her grip. She grunted as the brunette stumbled over his own feet, nearly bringing both Lana and L down with him.

"Sorry," he said, his voice cracking on the apology. It reminded Lana of her own desperate need for water.

"Don't mention it," she replied.

As they walked, she felt shade roll over her body as someone stepped into line beside her. She glanced to the left to see Itzel, who had apparently switched the position of Mello's body. She had hooked her arms in the crook of his elbows, and his back was leaning on her own. His feet were still being held up by Mogi.

The scarred woman glanced away before she could catch a thorough glimpse of the blonde's face.

"How ya doin', girly?" the Hispanic woman asked.

Lana sighed. "How do you think?"

"Well ain't you a peach."

"Shut up."

Itzel cackled good-naturedly, but her mood grew somber when the laughter died down. "I was just askin'. You saw Mikami bite it, didn't ya?"

"...Yeah."

The older woman whistled. "That sucks. Shame we had to leave 'im behind."

"What was I _supposed_ to do?" Lana snapped, her calm exterior bursting for a moment.

Itzel stared passively back at her. "Nothin'. That's all ya can do sometimes. But I know what you are, and I know yer gonna find a way to beat yourself up about it. Just know it ain't yer fault." The robust woman fell back behind her, resuming her pace from before.  
Lana stared ahead, her mind stuck on Itzel's words.

_Don't beat myself up about it? Like some nice words are going to do anything. Mikami died because none of us warned him. None of us even tried to stop B, except for Matt and Mello. Even when he didn't have a weapon, I still didn't do anything! Why? Why did L not want us to do anything? It was a perfect opportunity! And now, because we just stood there and did nothing while Matt and Mello risked their lives, Mikami is dead, and both of them got horribly injured. Don't beat myself up? I deserve more than that…I should be in Matt's place right now. I should've just grabbed the gun…all he did was try to help us from the very beginning, and now he and his best friend are suffering because of it_.

The young woman glanced at L out of the corner of her eye, trying to glean any semblance of remorse from his orbs. Against her fervent hopes, she found nothing, only a cool, analytical pair of black irises that stayed rigidly on the path ahead.

_How do you feel, L? Do you care about what happened? You say that you want to save the world, but what about us? Do you care that Matt and Mello might die? Or are they just pawns to you?_

_Is that what I am, too? _

"Turn right onto the block up ahead," Mogi called from behind them, his booming voice snapping Lana out of her thoughts.

The group did as he said, and upon entering the block, the scarred woman had a strange feeling… This place felt familiar somehow, even though she was certain that she had never been here before. Every building was tall and elegant, with clinical appearances that gave off the same vibes as a hospital. Though the signs outside were old and depreciated, with overgrown weeds and dead grass concealing most of the words, Lana could not shake the impression that this place was important.

Then, as they wandered past one of the more prominent buildings, it occurred to her.

"I've seen this place before," she said breathlessly. "On TV…this is where all the scientists and forensic pathologists did their research when the virus broke out! It was all over the news—there were vans lined up all down the street just to talk to the Surgeon General!" _Soichiro Yagami_, she remembered. _Light's father_. Their family had been very popular with the public. She wondered if the great Surgeon General would be happy with his son if he had known what Light would become.

"Yes," Mogi responded. "It was the center of all the P.H.D. research. I was assigned to guard it on several occasions. Not exactly what you would think to be the safest place, but the security was tight."

"So these are all laboratories?" L asked, his eyes now taking on an interested gleam.

"Most of them," the bulky man said. "Some of them were quarantine facilities in the early days, and housed several infected people for research purposes. Now they're mostly empty, but I know for a fact that—"

"Mogi?!"

A few buildings down, Lana saw a man lingering outside. Upon catching sight of their group, his jaw went slack, and he ran toward them with reckless abandon. The dark-haired woman tensed, but her suspicion gave way to surprise when the young man's features came into view.

"Mogi!" he exclaimed again as he ran up to them. "It's you! I can't believe it! Aizawa told me that you were alive, but I never thought I—Emerson?" He caught sight of the scarred woman in the middle of his sentence. "What are you—and is that Ryuuzaki? Who are all these people? What's going on?"

Lana grinned at the man's obvious confusion. "Hey there, Matsuda…you fucking idiot."

* * *

**And so now everyone meets up! Well, at least the good guys. This story ain't over yet! There are still more things that have to be addressed. It kind of sucks that the radio station is gone, isn't it? But hey, at least they got to meet up with Matsuda and the others because of it! **

**So what did you guys think of this chapter? Too fast? Too slow? Are you disappointed that we didn't get to see more crazy action from B? Well, don't be. His time will come. :)**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	26. The Curtain

**Author's Note: This chapter is pretty long, compared to the latest ones. I hope you like it! I'm going to try my hardest to make the rest of this story as epic as possible. I really want to end this story on a strong note. I hope you guys like this chapter as much as the other ones!**

** To WildfireDreams: So do I. I hate when authors kill off characters that you like… it's a mystery why I like Death Note so much then, since pretty much every character I like dies. Go figure. **

** To RaspberryDiamonds: I like Matsuda a lot. He's so goofy! **

** To version15: I know, but I can't have B go all out yet. We need some more build-up first…and drama…and what have you. **

** Your second question will be answered in this chapter. :)**

** To CainToYourAbel: I felt the same way! For all the times Light pulled his demon face in the series, how the hell did no one manage to pick up on him being Kira? I feel like someone would have noticed that…or maybe he was just smiling in his head? Who knows?**

** Also, I just realized how fucked up I am to the characters. Well, I kinda knew that already, since I'm the one writing it, but I just looked back over what I've written so far and came to understand that they very rarely have a moment of happiness. Well, we can only hope that things will start to look up with Soichiro and Sayu in the picture! **

** To garnet86: I hope that you get your answers at the end of this chapter. (No skipping ahead though! That's cheating!) Enjoy the ride :)**

**To WhiteLadyDragon: It's nice to see you again! I'm glad you're still reading this story. I would explain more of what's going on, but I plan to do that in future chapters. So no spoilers! :) It made me sad to hurt Matt and Mello, but it had to be done. Well, not really, but for the sake of the plot! Thanks for reviewing! **

** Warnings: Blood/Gore, Profanity. (When is there **_**not**_** profanity in any of the chapters? Should I even bother putting this in anymore?) **

* * *

**Chapter 26: The Curtain**

Smoke and fire continued to pour out of the radio station like water from a spigot, but to Light's surprise and frustration, none of the occupants had come out yet. He was becoming…not nervous, anxious. He was anxious, but he tried to keep the emotion off of his face. If he were to lose his cool now and give in to his temper, what good would that do? It wouldn't make Ryuuzaki or Emerson leave the building faster, and it would not solve any of his problems. As he had told Takada not long before, all they could do right now was wait.

So he did.

Light's blood started pumping faster when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his vision towards the distraction, and was momentarily relieved when he saw a man run out of the building.

Upon first glance, Light almost dove straight for the door to his room. _Ryuuzaki…_ He turned to leave, but hesitated at the last moment when his eyes registered something off about the man.

This man was a stranger. He lingered outside of the station for a few seconds, staring up at the building with a pensive posture. When he turned to face Light and Takada once again, the golden-haired man got a good look at him. He wasn't Ryuuzaki, but he certainly _looked_ like him. The resemblance almost seemed intentional.

Then it hit him.

"It's him," he said to Takada, who was staring intently at the man across the street.

"Who?"

"The man from Agent Misora's picture."

The brunette took a closer look, and her eyes widened in recognition. "So he's still alive? I would have thought he would be dead by now."

"There must have been a reason an FBI agent was wary enough of the man to come after him," Light muttered. "If he's been able to survive here without knowing anything about the location, then he must be capable." The man pondered his options. "I should have known that he wasn't Ryuuzaki. I would think that the associate of an FBI agent would at least attempt to save some of his subordinates…but does this mean that the others, including Ryuuzaki, are dead?"

Takada swore under her breath. "I knew that Mikami wouldn't be able to handle this. _He's_ definitely dead."

"And what would you have done differently, Takada?" he questioned her. "Besides, that doesn't matter right now. What matters is…" He trailed off when the Ryuuzaki impersonator dashed away down the street, and not a moment later, a television crashed through the glass front doors of the station.

"What in the—?" Takada sputtered, leaning in so as to be closer to the window.

Light watched intently, his body unmoving as he saw Ryuuzaki, Emerson, and a group of other people whom he did not know make their way out of the burning building. Among the strangers were a brunette male, whose bloodied form was being balanced in between the two objects of his hunt, and a boy with white hair and a disproportionate amount of bags hanging off his body.

And, to Light's genuine shock, there were also two people carrying someone else, both of whom he had not expected to see again. Itzel Shankman…and Mogi.

_My own ex-subordinate is working with them? What is going on? _

"Mogi? And Shankman, too? You've got to be kidding," Takada mumbled. "How did they find them?"

"Irrelevant," Light told her. "It's clear that Mikami did not manage to escape. My guess is that he is most likely dead, which means that not only did he fail at his job, but he is no longer around to help us. It's no great loss…I believe I've determined a better course of action anyway."

"What is it?"

He turned to face Takada, his face a mask of calm rationality. "Since Mikami is dead, we no longer have a man on the inside. However, we _do_ know of a man on the outside. I think we should follow that man—the one from Agent Misora's photograph."

"_What?"_ Takada gaped at him, her expression aghast. "Why?"

"Based on his behavior and the sudden outbreak of the fire, it is clear to me that it was him who started it. He is a criminal, after all—a criminal who is being aggressively pursued by the FBI. It would be normal for him to lash out at those who are trying to catch him. He must have it out for Ryuuzaki—which means that he will do everything in his power to find him. Not to mention that he managed to make it out of that building without being taken down by the others. He's definitely formidable."

"But he is still a criminal," Takada stressed. "Agent Misora told us that he's extremely dangerous. If we were to approach him we would be putting ourselves in harm's way. You've just seen what he did! He tried to kill several people by _burning them to death_. What makes you think he would let us say one word before slitting our throats? I refuse to trust someone who murders indiscriminately."

"Takada, we put ourselves in harm's way every day just by going outside," Light countered her as he fixed his clothing in the vanity mirror. "Forming a partnership with a criminal would not be the most dangerous thing we've ever done. Besides, from what we've seen it looks as though his intent is to kill Ryuuzaki. I only want to use him in order to get what we want. Once we found Ryuuzaki, our alliance would be over." The golden-haired man turned around, facing Takada with a look of disapproval. "If we don't hurry, he might get too far ahead for us to catch up. Put on some clothes, Takada—we're leaving."

The young woman hesitated, but held her tongue and did as Light told her.

"…Okay, Light. I trust you."

While the woman's back was turned, Light smiled darkly to himself. _You really shouldn't, Takada—but that's what makes you so valuable_.

* * *

He had been so close—so tantalizingly close that he could almost taste it. It had been such a long time since he felt so alive in the presence of others; he had almost forgotten how exhilarating it was, even if most of the time it was merely a chore of societal expectations.

But how _wonderful_ it had felt when he wreaked havoc on the radio station.

The scent of charred flesh didn't bother him; he found it made the blonde man more pleasant to look at, as did the expression of terror on his face in the brief second before the match dropped. He had felt the brunette's desperation as he feebly attempted to strike him down, and enjoyed every second of it. He was able to sense L's growing discomfort as he found himself unexpectedly cornered.

And B saw the woman's fear and hatred as though the emotions were his own. He saw them, and he felt them, and he relished them because they were _real_. They were not fabricated by a disease, or instilled in her by something other than his presence. All the attention was focused on him, his actions, and his goals. It may sound a bit egotistical, but that wasn't what B was about. No—his life revolved around the pure intention of instilling emotions in people, and wasn't that what everyone wanted to do in one way or another?

Besides, he was curious as to what would happen if he were able to connect with someone in ways he had previously ignored. That took a back seat to his major plans, however—and it was worth every minute he had spent in preparation.

Even so, there were still some things he had to do.

B arrived back at his current hideout, an abandoned building that was just down the street, and immediately made his way over to his belongings. He opened the suitcase with gentle precision so as to avoid jostling its contents. The vials sat inside their cradles, packed perfectly and filled to the brim for all but one. Only one of them was not filled with blood—blood collected from his subjects, all of whom had been too far gone to have any hope of getting away from him. They were too stupid and too clumsy to avoid his knives. At any rate, they _were_ somewhat fun to play with.

Looking into the rest of his things, B found that he still had four knives—three regular-sized switchblades and one large one. Had had only brought one with him for the sake of tension; what fun was there in a game where his opponents had no chance of winning? And surprisingly, that boy—Matt, he recalled—was far tougher than B had given him credit for. Consequently, he had lost out on his chance to take the woman with him. He suspected she would have to be injured to a degree, or otherwise incapacitated, in order to go with him anyway. She was not going to come easily.

So now he had to do more waiting, of which he was beginning to grow extremely bored. Patience was a virtue that he had in spades, but that didn't mean that he particularly enjoyed waiting for months on end. So yes, B was growing impatient. He was filled with an urge to hack and saw, to perform more experiments with the organisms around him. They were no good for anything else.

But no matter. He could wait; it wouldn't be long now until he would get his way. He knew how to find them. It would be relatively easy for the shaggy-haired man to track them to their new location, and B wouldn't even need to use his deductive skills.

After all, in people's desperation, many things will go unnoticed by them—including the fact that they were leaving a very obvious trail. _A trail of blood does make for an excellent set of directions_, B thought, a grin blooming on his pale face.

* * *

"_Emmy!" _

Lana felt herself being weighed down now not just by Matt, but by a sharply grinning Misa as well. The blonde still had her customary pigtails, but now she wore normal clothes—and she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that there was a man beside them soaked in his own blood. It was probably insensitive of the scarred woman to think this, but she found herself wondering just how in the hell the girl had managed to survive this long.

Then again, Matsuda was here too, so the pair had probably escaped together—which only raised further questions, such as how Matsuda had managed to allow the both of them to survive. That wasn't to say that Misa wasn't smart, she was just…inattentive.

"It's so cool to see you again!" the girl continued. "We didn't know if you were like, dead or what!"

"Thanks, Misa," the dark-haired woman said, her limbs unable to reciprocate the girl's friendly gesture—not that Misa seemed to mind all that much. "Um…could you let go of me? I sort of need my limbs."

"Oh. Sorry!" The blonde girl broke away from Lana and shot her a winning smile. She then turned her piercing gaze towards the rest of them. "It's nice to see you again, too, Ryuuzaki! And you, Itzel!"

"Please don't hug me," the Hispanic woman commented.

"Okay! And is that you, Mogi? Wow, this is like a reunion, isn't it?"

Lana wondered with growing panic where Matsuda had gone off to. Misa could be quite overwhelming at times, especially for someone who was unused to such flamboyant behavior. Then, the woman's jaw nearly dropped when Matsuda came back in with a very familiar man in tow.

_Is that…?_

It was. The man was Soichiro Yagami, the Surgeon General—and he looked the same as ever but for a few extra gray hairs. He had aged well since she'd last seen him on TV.

_He's alive? I mean, I guess I should have expected that. He must know how to survive this virus better than anyone, so it only makes sense. I wonder…does Light know that his father is alive? _

"Hey, guys," Matsuda began, "this is Soichiro. He took Misa and I in." The young man stood behind him, his own figure being swamped by the more imposing one of Soichiro. "You might recognize him as being the Surgeon General."

Soichiro looked all of them over, his bespectacled eyes lingering on Matt and what little he could see of Mello's body—that was to say, a limp hand.

"Matsuda," he said quietly, "who are these people?"

"They're friends," the young man told him. "Just like Aizawa. They used to work with me." He said nothing about Mello or Matt, for which Lana was grateful. The last thing those two needed was to be thrown out for being strangers.

"You know full well there isn't enough space in this building for seven more people," Soichiro said sternly. "Let alone two of whom are injured. They need an airy room to rest."

Lana's hopes crashed to the ground when the older man finished berating Matsuda. Was he going to throw them back out? Mogi had told them that this place was safe—he had implied that they would be able to stay here. If they were turned away, where would they go? Matt and Mello needed medical attention _now_; they didn't have time to dawdle and try to find a new place of refuge. Was everyone from the Yagami family this heartless?

"With all due respect, sir," Lana interjected, the term of endearment feeling strange in her throat, "can't you just treat our friends before throwing us out? I mean, I get that you don't have an _obligation to the public_ or anything—"

"Emerson!" Mogi objected, staring at the scarred woman as though she were crazy.

Soichiro, on the other hand, appeared to be more amused than anything else. "Don't concern yourself about her behavior, sir," he told the burly man. "The young woman is in fact correct—however, she did not allow me to finish my speech." He cast his amused glance in Lana's direction. "I said that we don't have enough space here—which is true. However, there is more than enough space for all of you to stay in the laboratory next door. It's been empty for quite a while now, and I'm certain you would all find the size to your liking."

Lana—and everyone else—was pleasantly surprised by the man's offer. The scarred woman flushed a deep shade of red, embarrassed by her hasty accusation.

"Now, it looks as though two of your friends are in need of urgent medical attention. Bring them to the back room—we have a medical station there."

With a universal sigh of relief—except from L, who merely nodded his head in assent—everyone followed him. Near stayed behind with Matsuda and Misa, setting down the bags that he had been carrying on the sofa. As Itzel and Mogi walked past them with Mello's body, Misa took one look at the burned flesh and let a out loud squeal of fear.

The back room was nothing like Lana had imagined. She was still stuck on the old remnants of society; she had pictured a hospital bed, complete with tubes and overly complicated machines and whatever those weird plastic pans were called. She should have realized that that would be stupid, considering how they weren't even in a real hospital.

Instead, the room looked much like a chemistry lab—or what little she had seen of them from sci-fi shows and movies. There were two lab stations, both stripped completely bare, and a series of assorted bottles, brushes, metal utensils, and packages littered around the room. What they were all for, Lana had no idea.

When all of them entered the large facility, someone was already there. A girl was standing at one of the stations, studiously taking notes while alternating between glances into a microscope. She looked up when everyone came in, seeming to be at a loss for words.

"Get that out of the way, Sayu," Soichiro told her, motioning to the microscope. "We need that space for two patients."

As the brunette did as he said, Soichiro turned back around.

"Set them down on the tables," Soichiro told them. "I'll take care of this boy." He motioned towards Matt. "Sayu will treat him." He gestured to Mello.

Lana and L carefully set Matt down on the table, unhooking his arms from around their necks. The brunette grunted as they did so, uncomfortable with the sudden strain on his abdomen.

"Don't lie down," Soichiro informed him. "Let me look at the wound." He took a pair of small scissors and proceeded to cut off the brunette's shirt. As he did so, Lana suddenly felt a wave of guilt; she didn't want to see the proof of her cowardice stained on Matt's side with blood.

"Will you be okay?" she asked him, and he smirked crookedly at her despite the pain she knew he was in.

"Sure thing," he said. She returned his sentiment with a lopsided grin of her own.

"I'm going to go check on Mello."

Lana waltzed over to the second station, cringing when she saw just how bad the blonde man looked. Half of his face was horribly burned, and the dark-haired woman knew that he would have a scar for the rest of his life—just like her. Though the noxious odor of burnt flesh had died down somewhat, it still made Lana somewhat nauseous. Put simply, the man was in awful shape: his skin was a charred, angry red. His hair on the burned side of his face had been reduced in length, and it was now just above his chin. His arm and leg had also sustained damage; his pant leg had been burned through, leaving welts on the pale skin of his thigh. His arm was in similar shape, if not worse due to the lack of sleeves for protection.

Sayu worked silently as she cut off the rest of his pant leg, exposing his burns to the open air. The young brunette seemed vaguely familiar, but Lana couldn't quite pinpoint where she had seen her before. Was she an apprentice of Soichiro's?

In an effort to distract herself from Mello's disfigured body, the scarred woman asked, "Have we met?"

Sayu glanced at her and shook her head, a small smile on her face. "No. But I'm sure you've seen me before. My father is…well, _was_ pretty well-known. There aren't a lot of people left around nowadays _to _know."

It took a moment for Sayu's words to sink in, but eventually the scarred woman figured out what she meant. Her face, her stature, even the way she presented herself…

"You're Soichiro's daughter!" she blurted out. "Yeah…I remember seeing you on the news a few times with your father. You look a lot different now, though."

The girl giggled, smiling fondly as she deposited charred cloth in a bin under the lab station "Yeah, well, seven years does a lot to change a twelve-year-old. Besides, I never liked being on camera anyway. My brother was a lot better at that kind of stuff."

The blood in Lana's veins ran cold. So this was Light's sister…how old was she now? Nineteen? Sayu was not much younger than some of the girls at Waterfront had been. The thought of Light using girls just like his little sister in order to turn a profit…it made her sick. She had thought that it was impossible to hate another human being any more than she already did, but once again she had been proven wrong. Still, something that Sayu had said struck her as odd.

"Your brother? As in Police Chief Yagami?"

The brunette nodded. "Yeah. He was kinda like my role model…both he and my dad were. But we haven't seen him at all since Mom died a few years ago…Dad and I both accepted that he's probably passed away by now, otherwise he would've come to see us."

"…Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay…oh no."

"What is it?" Lana asked, not liking the tone of Sayu's voice. "Is it Mello?"

"Don't worry. I'm sure he'll live…but his burns are pretty severe," Sayu told her. However, despite the young girl's assurances, she herself sounded anxious. "The layers of skin that are burned have a higher risk of developing an infection. If we bandage the wound without removing the destroyed skin cells, he could die."

"So that means…"

"That means I have to peel off the burnt skin and clean the wound. All I can do aside from that is hope the burns don't run too deep, or else we would have a problem. He's going to have permanent scars, though. There's nothing I can do about that…"

As Lana watched with horrified eyes, Sayu grabbed an assortment of metal tools from a tray that was sitting on the other side of the room. Among them was a scalpel, a pair of plier-like devices, and some small scissors.

"It's a good thing he's unconscious," Sayu commented, and the scarred woman felt her stomach sink. After all was said and done, the blonde man was probably going to look way worse than her.

"Yeah," was all Lana said in response.

As Sayu set to work on removing Mello's skin, bright red was all that Lana could see. Blood filled her vision, and she inhaled quickly at the morbid sight.

"Lana?" Matt's pained voice called from across the room, pulling the woman out of her momentary trance. "What's wrong with Mello?" The brunette sounded concerned; the dark-haired woman didn't blame him in the slightest. He had every right to be upset—just as he had every right to blame her for what had happened to the both of them. Guilt was a double-edged sword, she thought.

"Hold still, son," she heard Soichiro say from behind her. "I have to remove the knife, and I can't have you moving around."

"_Lana_," Matt said again, more urgently this time.

Not savoring the very real possibility of her vomiting, the scarred woman went back over to the brunette. When he saw her, his green eyes lightened in relief. It took Lana a moment to realize that L was no longer there; he had probably left Matt's side as soon as he could. She had at least hoped that he would have the decency to stick around and see if the others were okay. _I guess I was wrong, as usual_.

"Well? Is Mello okay?" Matt asked again, pulling Lana out of her reverie.

The young woman grinned, but the false gesture hurt her cheeks. "He's going to be okay. Sayu just needs to do some work on him…bandage him up. What about you?"

"Well," Soichiro cut in, "the knife would already be out by now if the boy would stop conversing."

Matt looked flushed. "Is this going to hurt really badly?" he asked.

Lana shook her head. "You'll be fine, Matt. Getting stabbed in the eye was a walk in the park for me, so you shouldn't even feel it," she lied. "Just grit your teeth, okay? It'll be over before you know it."

"I know that," he snapped, and Lana was certain that he would have blushed if he hadn't lost so much blood already. Instead, he had a sickly white pallor. "But it hurts like a bitch."

"Hold still, and it will be over sooner, Matt," Soichiro reassured him as he rolled a pair of latex gloves over his hands. "Lana, can you do me a favor, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Sure. What do you want me to do?"

Soichiro handed her a bucket, which the young woman stared at with furrowed brows. But as soon as the older man told her what it was for, she resisted the urge to drop it.

"Hold that beneath his wound," he said. "I want you to try to catch as much of the blood that comes out as possible. We shouldn't waste any of it."

Though the thought made Lana feel ill, she did as he said, and immediately heard the _drip, drip_ sound that accompanied the bleeding wound.

"I'm sorry," Matt said to her as Soichiro placed his hands on the knife.

"For what?" Lana asked in disbelief. "You didn't do anything wrong, Matt." She saw Soichiro counting silently out of the corner of her eye, and against her better judgment, took Matt's hand in her unoccupied one. "Just keep looking at me, okay?"

The brunette took a deep breath, and Soichiro started pulling. Instantly, Matt's hand tightened on her own, almost cutting off the young woman's circulation. She didn't say anything, however; she allowed Matt to squeeze her hand to death, knowing that he was in much more pain than she. Her stomach turned over as she heard the prior dripping of the bucket turn into a steady stream.

There was a grunt of pain, and the sound of metal hitting metal as Soichiro threw the knife onto the metal tray by the station. The older man quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around the brunette.

"That's enough, Lana," he said, and the woman set the bucket down. "Lie on your back, Matt. I have to give you stitches now."

Matt did as he said, wincing as he stretched out onto his back. He never let go of Lana's hand.

Soichiro grabbed his tools and went to work, sewing up the long wound with practiced ease. Lana relaxed when she saw Matt's horrid grimacing die back to mild winces; at least he wasn't in so much pain anymore. She couldn't think of one other person who deserved it less, aside from Near. (She had a soft spot for kids, she freely admitted.)

After a few minutes of keeping the brunette company, the scarred woman's attention was called elsewhere by the creeping sensation on her spine. It felt almost as though someone was watching her…

She glanced up at the doorway, only to see L staring back at her with coal-black eyes. His posture was slouched as always, his hands buried in his pockets. He seemed perfectly normal, aside from the fact that he was staring at her with an intensity that she didn't quite understand. Was he upset with her? Did he just not like the fact that she was paying attention to Matt, as he had warned her against some time ago? Or was it something else?

Either way, Lana still found herself wary of the detective's previous actions, as well as his apparent disinterest in taking down B when they had the chance.

So, she thought vindictively, if he was angry that she was with Matt, he could go fuck himself. The brunette was still her friend, even if he wanted her to be more than that. There was no way that she was going to leave him alone when he needed someone to keep him company. His best friend was in mortal danger, and it was partially her fault.

She wouldn't fail him again.

Lana frowned at L, and looked away. Right now, she had more important things to deal with.

* * *

L watched her as she purposely ignored him, and raised an eyebrow at her obvious aggression. So she was angry with him, if the glare she sent his way was any indication. She clearly didn't want him to be here. She was focusing all of her attention on Matt, even after L had explicitly warned her against encouraging his advances. Lana had seemed to be receptive to the idea, and gave the impression that she understood the necessity of dispelling the brunette's romantic illusions.

So why was she now acting like a concerned lover? He couldn't comprehend it.

"Ya know, starin' at her won't make her pay attention to ya," an amused voice said from behind him.

The detective turned around to see Itzel standing behind him. The large woman had a knowing smirk on her face, and her arms were folded across her chest in an authoritative manner.

L cocked his head at the brusque woman. "I do not intend to gain her attention," he told her. "I am merely curious as to her motivations. When I am trying to read someone, it helps to look at their facial expressions in order to deduce their point of view."

The Hispanic woman stared at him as though he were speaking Chinese, and sighed dramatically. "Come on," she said, all joking manner pushed aside. She grabbed ahold of his arm and began to drag him away, and L allowed her to; though he was more invested in deciphering Lana's strange behavior, understanding the perspective of the scarred woman's best friend could also be of some help. He might as well go along with it.

Besides, Itzel did not seem like the type of person who took no for an answer.

The large woman brought him farther into the hallway, out of sight of the scarred woman. The pair stared at each other, and L wondered just what she could possibly have to say to him. They had never exchanged more than a few words, after all; the most poignant memory he had of her was back at Waterfront, when she commanded him to save her best friend.

She did not disappoint.

"Ya better quit acting like a dick."

This was unexpected; L's ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

The large woman sighed again. "Are ya sorry?"

"For what?"

"What do ya think? That those two boys in there almost died—still might, unless the Yagamis can patch 'em up."

L pondered the woman's question for a moment, then answered with an inquiry of his own. "Are you?" he asked Itzel, curious as to what she would say.

To his surprise, the Hispanic woman didn't hesitate. "Course I am. Who wouldn't be? So are ya sorry or not? It ain't a hard question."

"No, it is not," the detective said. "Or, at least, it should not be. However, I did allow both Matt and Mello to get hurt in the name of a greater purpose. The proper time to confront B was not in a burning building."

"Bullshit," Itzel said. "I may not a been there, but even I know that line's bull." L raised an eyebrow at the severity of her tone. "Don't try to act like this was some grand plan. Nobody's perfect—not even you. And ya may act like a damn alien sometimes, boy, but yer still human. Ya ain't gonna get everything right all the time."

_She is quite persistent. Perhaps she sees more than I think she does. Indeed, she is much more intelligent than I give her credit for._ L glanced heavenward, biting on the tip of his thumb. "It is true that the attack was unprecedented. It is possible for me to be caught off guard."

"Mm-hm. So why is girly so pissed at ya, then?"

"Because she most likely blames me—and herself, to some extent—for not taking action against B when we had the chance. And now Matt and Mello are hurt because of it."

"And why didn't ya take action?"

And this, the core of Itzel's question, was where L drew the line between rationality and emotion. Why _hadn't_ he moved when B was at his most vulnerable? (Granted, B's most vulnerable was still quite dangerous.) True, the serial killer would have probably still gotten away, but that didn't mean L couldn't have tried. But no, he was much more methodical than that, right?

Perhaps not—because Lana _had _wanted to do something. She had wanted to shoot B herself. This would have been the perfect opportunity for a methodical ploy on L's part. While B was distracted by Lana, L could have used that moment of vulnerability to take the serial killer down.

So why hadn't he encouraged her to do it? Why had he stared at her so intensely when she was practically _begging_ him with her eyes to do something? Why had he stood idly by and allowed B's charade to continue? Why had he been so distracted? He wasn't supposed to allow himself to hesitate—he was supposed to take action, regardless of the risks imposed on others. And certainly, he was never supposed to favor one person over another. Lana knew what she had signed up for—so why couldn't L take advantage of that?

"I am having…a difficult time processing the situation," the detective told Itzel, who merely scoffed at his pitiful answer.

"No shit," she said. "It's cause ya feel bad."

"Are you implying that I blame myself for what happened?" he asked, the idea sounding foreign to him. He knew that he hadn't been the one to hurt Matt or Mello…but thinking about the situation still made him highly uncomfortable.

"Yeah—cause ya do. She don't think that, though. I can always tell with her." The large woman started to walk away, but L called her back.

"Tell what?"

Itzel turned back around, the expression on her face incredulous. "For a smart guy, yer kinda stupid, ain'tcha?"

* * *

**First off, I would just like to reiterate that I am not a doctor. So don't take any medical advice from this story! **

**Oh, we have a bit of tension between L and Lana right now—and clearly some miscommunication issues as well. If only L were more accustomed to dealing with emotions, then maybe this wouldn't be a problem. But then again, if L were more attuned to people's emotions, he wouldn't be the oddball that we all enjoy from Death Note. So I'm glad he is the way he is. (It also provides me with copious material with which to make a shitload of drama.) **

**As always, I hope you all liked this chapter, and be sure to drop a review! :)**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	27. To Those Who Listen

**Author's Note: So I was writing this chapter and for some reason, I couldn't stop criticizing it. I don't know why, but I kept going back and editing and making sure that everything looked okay. I don't know why. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I hope it paid off!**

**To WildfireDreams: Thanks :) **

**To version15: I love the parts in stories where all the characters meet up! It's the best part, I think (though maybe not for this story, haha), and I'm glad you liked it! I wish that all the characters would survive too…I guess we'll see! **

**To garnet86: Thanks a lot! For me, the characters' thoughts are just as vital as the plot. If the characters don't care about what's going on, or their thoughts are mysteriously blank on the matter, then I feel like I shouldn't really care about it either. **

**And the L/Lana tension is my favorite part of writing the story! I'm glad you liked Itzel's role in all of this; **_**someone**_** has to smack some sense into L besides Lana. **

**Warning: Profanity, Minor Violence.**

* * *

**Chapter 27: To Those Who Listen**

"Do you believe in God, Mello?"

He didn't answer her when she asked, not at first. It took him a few seconds just to come up with a response that he didn't think she would reject, and he internally grinned when he found one.

"I used to think believing in some guy you can't see was pointless," he told the girl sitting beside him. "Everything in my life sucked when I was a kid. I never had any real friends—or parents. I always had to watch out for myself. But…lately I've been thinking differently. I mean, Matt's a good guy once you get past his quirks, and you…well, you know. Nowadays I like the idea that there's someone else out there bigger than me."

He was telling the truth; idly, he wondered if that would scare her off. He wouldn't be surprised. Most of the kids here had at least had parents at some point that they could remember. Even Matt had a mother when he was younger. What did _he_ have? Well, right now, he had a lot more than he ever believed he would, but that wasn't the point. The point was whether or not the girl sitting beside him would accept his baggage.

The young woman drew herself up, staring at the blonde with befuddled brown eyes. "I cannot imagine what it was like, only looking out for yourself. I never thought about me."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What are you talking about?"

"It is funny. You only look out for you, yet you still believe in God."

"Are you saying you don't?"

The teenager curled up against the pillow on his bed and rested her chin upon it, shooting a small smile at the blonde. "I thought about other things as a child, until I got here three years ago."

"…What did you think about?"

Emilia smiled sadly, resting her cheek on her hand. "Rafael…and God. I prayed every day for my baby brother. I thought about him, and how I never wanted him to be harmed or have us separated from our parents. But our parents were killed by the gangs, and I had to carry my brother all the way here from home. The coyotes I was afraid would sell us out, but we made it across the border. I thought about life and death, and Rafael. Never myself. And by the end, I lost God, because the whole time I was worrying about someone else, I felt that no one was worrying about me." She met the blonde's gaze with tragic eyes. "I learned that I do not matter, but what does is the people I have."

With horror-struck eyes, Mello watched as the Hispanic girl undid the beads that hung around her neck, cupping the necklace in her palm and placing it gently into the blonde's.

"Here," she told him, closing his palm over the beads. "I am glad you have faith, but it is something I no longer do. I hope it will keep you safe."

Mello opened his palm, holding out the necklace to his scrutiny. It was a rosary, the tiny cross hanging small and unassuming in the center of his hand. He glanced back up at Emilia, noting that her watery eyes were directed at him.

"May you live very long, Mello. I feel as though I will do it through you."

* * *

Mello gasped as his eyes flew open, agony throbbing on the left side of his face and shoulder. His left leg was burning slightly as well, thought not to an unbearable degree. He wasn't feeling up to moving any of his limbs, however. Yet the sheer discomfort of lying prone on a cold hard surface was enough to compel the blonde man to twitch his right arm.

"Where am I?" His voice came out rough and scratchy, leaving an unpleasant itch in his throat.

"Oh, you're awake." A feminine drawl reached his ears, but it was weighed down by the distraction of having a throat as dry as sandpaper. He couldn't respond; he was in dire need of water. "Can you move alright?"

_No, I fucking can't! Do I have to keel over for you to get the point?_ He groaned in an attempt to display the grave need he had for something that would wet his throat.

At the sound of the harshness in his voice, the woman finally seemed to realize what was wrong with him. "Oh! Sorry!"

The padding of footsteps brought the blonde man some relief and a sip of cool water. He could feel the difference instantly; he became more alert as the liquid washed down his throat.

"Feeling better?" the woman asked him.

Mello peered up at the person who hovered above him—or, at least, he tried—but only one of his eyes slid open. The one on his left side cracked open halfway; his eyelids appeared to be stuck together, and stung profusely when he tried to pull them apart.

_What the hell?_

"It might be a little hard to open your eye for a while," the woman above him said, her silhouette slightly blurred. "Your eye was damaged too, but I don't think I can help you with that. I cleaned the rest of your wounds as best I could. Oh, and your friend is okay."

_Wounds? And is she talking about Matt? But...wait. I'm alive. How the hell am I alive?_

Memories came back to him in bits and pieces; he remembered seeing a man who looked just like Ryuuzaki…and fire…the entire world had been on fire, it seemed like, though Mello knew it was only the radio station.

So where was he now? _Wait_—he_ did _recall hearing voices talking about him…one of them belonged to Itzel and the other to a person he didn't know, but he still remembered them. He believed at the time that he was hallucinating.

_Guess I was wrong_. "Where am I?" he croaked out, blinking his right eye furiously so that he could get a better look at the woman. Her face came into gradual focus, and Mello was surprised to see that she was young. She was just a slight brunette, one who was probably even younger than him—yet here she was, telling him that she had dressed his wounds.

She smiled down at him, her eyes roaming over his face in what he was guessing was an attempt to analyze his features—for what reason, the blonde had no idea.

_Do I really look that bad?_

"You're still in Los Angeles, if you're wondering," the girl continued, "but you're as safe as possible. Welcome to Laboratory Seven."

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay, Matt?"

The copper-haired man grinned at Lana's question as he settled himself onto a cot. "I've slept in worse places," he told her. "I got caught in an abandoned mine shaft once."

"How did that happen?"

"Research."

"What were you—never mind."

Matt smiled on the outside, but internally he knew that a cot was more than he could ask for. At least this thing was made to sleep on—he had developed a perpetual sore back from sleeping on that pile of loose blankets and pillows at the radio station.

_The radio station…_

He frowned at the sudden reminder of what had become of his beloved building. All that time and effort he had put into it, and it was all for nothing—and now, Mello was in bad shape as well. He could put two and two together, and he knew that Lana would have let him see his friend by now if he was really okay. And just thinking about the place that had been their makeshift home for the past few years being reduced to a pile of rubble made his insides hurt even more than they already did.

"Really, I'm fine," he said in response to Lana's stern expression.

"Okay…" the scarred woman said hesitantly from where she stood by his bedside. Itzel stood next to her with arms folded; both women had helped escort him to Laboratory Eight after Soichiro had deemed him as patched up as he could possibly get. "But, you know, Matt, if you need something you should just call for us. We're right next door. You shouldn't walk around by yourself from now on—"

"Unless yer goin' to the bathroom," Itzel chimed in. "I think ya can make it that far. Other than that, we're on call. We don't want ya to open up yer stitches and have to mop ya off the floor."

"What she said," the scarred woman agreed.

Matt grimaced at the mental image, and a faint throbbing sensation bloomed in his side. The last thing he wanted right now was to be subjected to another round of stitches. "I get it," he assured the two women, holding his hands up in surrender. "You're both going to kill me if I disobey, right? So I won't do anything crazy."

"Well, if you want to go anywhere, we'll help you."

Itzel nodded in assent. "I owe ya one for taking me in."

"It wasn't a big deal," Matt told her, "I'd feel worse if I didn't." The brunette's eyes returned to Lana, flushing at the manner in which she was staring at him.

_Why is she looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?_ The dark-haired woman was staring at Matt as though she were in physical pain, but she was also smiling; her expression reminded him of a child who was getting their first shot but wanted to put on a brave face.

"Um, Lana?" he said, "Are _you_ okay?"

Said woman stared quizzically at him, but the forced grin did not leave her face. "Yeah. Why?"

He shook his head slowly, sensing dangerous territory if he were to provoke her any further. "Nothing…it's nothing. Well, actually..." Matt busied himself with coming up with an excuse that would save his skin. "I was wondering if you could take me to see Mello. I want to know how he's doing."

Itzel appeared a bit uncomfortable, but Lana instantly stiffened upon hearing the blonde's name. After a few seconds, she relaxed her composure. A succinct "sure" came out of her mouth. "Let me just go check with Sayu and see if he's awake. I'm sure he'll want to see you too."

Just as the young woman turned to leave, she was stopped by the presence of someone standing in the doorway. Ryuuzaki leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His dark eyes flitted from person to person, but the coal-black gaze lingered too much on Lana for Matt to be comfortable. He didn't fault himself for being annoyed; after all, the guy had basically just stood there and not tried to do anything at the radio station. At least Lana was concerned for his welfare—Ryuuzaki had been completely calm while Matt and Mello were being targeted by B. So the brunette could forgive himself if he was a bit on edge right now; he was in a pretty foul mood with the detective.

"What are you doing here?" Matt asked, not bothering to mask the harshness in his tone.

Ryuuzaki shrugged at him, but he didn't even twitch with surprise at the other man's blatant disrespect. "I came to see how you are faring. I did help to carry you here, so I thought it would not seem out of place to come see you."

"You're doing that thing again, _Ryuuzaki_," Lana chimed in.

"What 'thing?'"

"That thing, where you pretend to be interested in someone and make them feel like a dick when they call you on it." The scarred woman pushed past the strange man; to Matt's surprise, he merely stepped aside to let her through. He didn't respond to her quip, but stared after her as though he very much would have liked to. The copper-haired man internally scoffed. Being construed as a dick had never stopped Ryuuzaki from doing or saying anything before. However, Matt couldn't help but feel some sympathy for him—at first. That sympathy went by the wayside as soon as he remembered that he was pissed off at Ryuuzaki for the very reason Lana had mentioned.

"How are you feeling, Matt?" Ryuuzaki asked.

"Fine."

"Is that so?"

Matt almost tore his stitches from shock when in the blink of an eye, the pale man went from lingering in the doorway to kneeling at the foot of his cot. Ryuuzaki scrutinized him with an especially disconcerting expression, one that made the brunette want to crane his head backwards as far as possible.

"Um…yeah. I'm fine. I'm not going to bleed to death anytime soon, so that's a plus."

"Hmm," Ryuuzaki agreed, picking at his lip.

Itzel, meanwhile, stood at Matt's bedside with a disbelieving gape on her face that Matt could relate to.

"I trust you are not in too much pain?"

Matt sighed. "Okay, really, what is this about? Why do you suddenly want to know how I feel?"

"Is it wrong for me to be concerned for your well-being? Everyone else seems to be."

Try as he might, and even knowing the fact that Ryuuzaki was probably being facetious, Matt could not smother a wave of guilt. Even if the odd detective wasn't being entirely sincere in his display of concern, the copper-haired man decided to let this matter die. "Well…I guess not. I should probably…thank you, for saving me. I know you didn't have to, so…thanks."

The pale man nodded in turn. "You are welcome. And, if I may add a word of advice: In the future, perhaps you should not act so rashly when put in a perilous situation. It often only ends badly for you and those around you."

Itzel face-palmed, and Matt's green eyes popped wide with stark disbelief. "What?" he stuttered, irritation lacing his surprise. "Are you freaking kidding me? How can you be such a hypocrite?"

Ryuuzaki stared quizzically at him, cocking his head to the side as if he did not even understand the word. "A hypocrite?"

_Is he being serious? I can't tell if he honestly has no clue what I'm talking about, or if he's only trying to bait me._ Since the brunette was currently fuming, he decided to go with the latter. "Maybe because you were talking about using yourself as bait only five minutes before B arrived! And you don't consider that reckless?"

"Perhaps a bit—but what is your point?"

Growing increasingly infuriated, Matt growled at the stoic man. "That I'm going to call you on your bullshit. How come it's suddenly okay for you to put yourself in mortal danger, but when anyone else does it, it's idiotic?"

"Because," Ryuuzaki said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "that is my job. I must capture B, even if it costs me and the people around me our lives—but I do not want you to die for such a fruitless attempt on B's life. You must have suspected that you would not be able to pull it off, anyway."

In this moment, Matt didn't believe that he had ever been angrier with another person in all his life. Ryuuzaki seemed to be pushing all his buttons, and he didn't like it one bit. If he weren't so sure that it would rip all his stitches, he would have gotten in the other man's face already. "Don't patronize me, you heartless bastard. You basically just told me that you don't care if we live or die as long as it serves your purpose! Who says shit like that?"

"My intention was to inform you that letting yourself die so recklessly would only cause emotional turmoil for the people around you."

"For who? You mean Lana? Or Mello? Or Itzel? Or maybe even Near—cause you sure as hell made it clear that _you_ don't care. Even you coming here was all a front to make yourself seem more human. Well, I don't care if you _are_ the famous L—yeah, I heard what B called you—all you are to me is an asshole. You treat people like objects, like stupid cogs in a machine that you can get rid of if they don't work right. Why did you even want to keep me around? Because I fixed your communicator? Piss off." Matt was breathing hard by this point, the stitches in his side aching as he tried to reign in his anger.

"Matt—"

"No! You want to talk about how people feel? You don't give a shit about anyone's feelings! Not mine, and you sure as hell don't care about Lana's. All you've done is cause everyone pain. We'd be better off without you."

The pale detective stared at the copper-haired man with a blank expression.

"Hey, did you hear me?" Matt snapped.

Ryuuzaki nodded. "I did…and I do apologize if that is the way you see things."

Without another word, he turned around and left the room.

"Asshole," the brunette mumbled under his breath as soon as the door closed—and in the next instant, Matt saw stars when a blow struck him in the side of the head. "Ow! What the hell?"

Itzel was staring at him with a look of disapproval, and Matt gulped in dread. "What was that for?"

"What do ya think?" the brusque woman barked at him. "Is everyone here a damn idiot?"

"What are you talking about?" the young man fired back. "He deserved everything I said. It's all true."

"Ya sure about that?" Matt's eyebrows furrowed, but Itzel continued without breaking a sweat. "How well do ya really know that man?"

The brunette shook his head. "Not a lot—but I know enough to understand that I don't want to know any more."

"Listen," the large woman began, "I'll tell ya somethin' that I've only ever told girly." This was enough to effectively gain Matt's attention. "People think I'm dumb, ya know? I talk like I do, and they think they know me. I act like I do, and they don't take me seriously. Once…I even had a kid, when I was about seventeen."

"You had a kid?" Matt interjected, using his idiocy.

But contrary to being mad, Itzel just grinned sadly at his outburst. "Yeah—fer a while."

"Oh…" the young man said. "I'm sorry. What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

"This," she told him, a sad gleam in her eyes. "But it wasn't always like that. There I was, a half-black, half-Mexican teen with a baby, and all of a sudden it was like people stopped seein' me fer me. All they saw was a statistic with a blank face and a kid suckin' at her tits. But only I know me." Itzel leaned against the wall, staring at Matt with a stern look. "So let me ask ya this," she said. "What makes ya think you know that man any better?"

Matt couldn't think of any answer that wouldn't make him seem like a whiny dick. His gaze was downcast, and he refused to meet what he knew would be Itzel's disappointed one. "I…I don't know."

"Ya know what it seems like to me? It seems like he didn't mean what he was sayin' back here. In fact, I would say that he sounded like he was tryin' to convince himself."

Matt still didn't meet her eyes.

"Well, don't look too fuckin' sad, Skinny. That isn't what I wanted. Here."

To Matt's pleasant surprise, Itzel stuck a cigarette in front of his face. "Ya smoke, right?"

"Um…yeah," he said, clasping the stick of tobacco in his left hand. "Thanks."

"No problem—here ya go." With a single match, Itzel lit both her cigarette and Matt's. "One thing I'm glad for in all this? No goddamn smoke alarms."

The copper-haired man grinned, silently agreeing with Itzel as he took a hit. "Aw, man!"

"What?"

"These are menthols," he observed, staring at the cigarette with thinly veiled disgust. "You're nasty."

"Smoke 'em or don't, Skinny. You'd be doin' me a favor."

The young man gave a breathy laugh, but continued to puff on the cigarette regardless. "No—it was a gift, right? I can't turn down a gift."

* * *

Lying had once provided him with a safety net, a way of distancing himself from the few people around him. As long as no one knew his true identity, or of his true intentions, it was incredibly easy to keep himself from becoming too emotionally invested in anything. He never allowed anyone close enough to grow a significant bond; displays of affection were only ever bestowed on him by—as far as he could remember—Watari, and these did not last long. By the time a young L arrived at Wammy's House, he was already sunk so far into his ways that he knew he would never be what most people considered normal. He made it abundantly clear that Watari's affection was unneeded, and it soon stopped.

Over the years, L became the world's greatest detective; the perfect, composed savior whom all of the other orphans aspired to be—just as B had, once upon a time. And, as was now completely obvious, aspiring to be him only led to suffering for those who reached for it. His first successor committed suicide; his second devolved into a man so deranged that L had trouble even seeing him as the same person. The pressure of being L was too great; the pressure of having to wear a constant façade could drive many people mad…

L was perfectly suited to the task, it seemed. He lied easily, and was able to think himself out of almost every poor situation he had been put in. But this was something else. Lying _was_ starting to affect him—or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that his _ability _to lie was being affected. He found that lying to Matt did not come as easily as it should have. The whole time he had wanted to speak the truth, but he just couldn't find the proper words. Instead he had simply repeated his "L" mantra, the declaration to do his duty as a detective no matter what the personal cost was.

The problem was that L wasn't certain he believed in that mantra anymore. All he knew was that Matt's harsh words struck something in him that made him feel as though he were dangling by a thread seventy feet in the air.

It wasn't pleasant.

At that moment, something began to buzz in his pocket. L's eyes widened. _Watari's communicator—he is finally responding._ In a flash, the speaker was in his ear, and the microphone was pinned to his shirt.

"Hello?" he said, his voice sounding somewhat warbled through the damaged device. It would have to do. "Watari?"

The detective swore that he could hear the old man gasp on the other end of the line. _"Ryuuzaki, you're alive! I thought that something had happened to you, but I prayed that you weren't dead."_

"Something did happen," the pale man answered. "Things did not go as planned, but that was to be expected. I am certain that I will be able to catch B soon. He is around here somewhere, and I believe that he is working alone."

"_I see,"_ Watari replied. _"At any rate, I am glad you're okay, L—Ryuuzaki. If I may ask, where are you right now?"_

"Still in Los Angeles, in a laboratory. I am in the company of several other people who provided me shelter, including Surgeon General Soichiro Yagami."

"_Soichiro Yagami? I knew that he elected to stay behind with his family, but I believed he had perished along with most of the others. What has he been doing this whole time?" _

"From what I can tell, research. His daughter and he are locked up in their station right now, while everyone else wanders about. I find it difficult to imagine him doing anything else."

"_Yes. From what I know of him, he is a very dedicated man."_

"Hmm."

"_Ryuuzaki, I must ask…is that woman still with you? The one you called Emerson?" _

"She goes by Lana now, Watari."

"..._I see. So you are still with her. And she is helping you, correct?"_

"Yes."

"_Ryuuzaki, the state of the people over there is unfortunate, but you must remember that they are not the ones we are saving. We are forbidden to take any of them home with us. Even you will have to remain under heavy quarantine for a few days once you return."_

"I know, Watari. I believe we have had this conversation before."

"_I'm aware of that. But I only remind you because of how strange you sound."_

"Do I? I have not noticed a difference."

"_There is. You sound as though something is weighing heavily on your mind. Has something happened?"_

For a moment, the detective contemplated telling Watari about all that had occurred in the past few months—about his brush with death, about all of the people he had come to know, and even about the night he and Lana had almost…

On second thought, it would be best if he said nothing at all. This would only prove Watari's claims that he had been somehow compromised in his ideals.

"No, Watari. Nothing is abnormal. Everything from here on out should go as planned."

* * *

Lana resisted the urge to cover her eyes when she went to see Mello. The man was in bad shape, though he did look leagues better than he had a few hours prior. The charred parts of his face were still there, but they had been cleaned and scraped to reveal shiny pink skin. It still looked bad, however; almost the entire left side of his face, including his eye, was swollen and glossed over by what Lana knew would become scar tissue.

As she walked over to where he laid on the cot, the blonde man's eyes opened, flicking around the room before landing on her.

"Hey," he said, his voice harsh. "You're alive."

Lana grinned. "So are you, dick."

Mello allowed a smirk to grace his features, and he scoffed lightly. "I'm not really enjoying life right now, though. My face hurts like hell."

The scarred woman didn't know if she should say anything; she wasn't certain if he had seen himself yet.

"You don't have to pretend," he told her. "I know I look like shit. That girl already showed me earlier."

"…Oh."

"Yeah."

"Look, it's not that bad, Mello. Trust me. I've seen way worse."

He glanced at her, his eyes searching her face before landing on her eye. "I know."

Lana decided a change of subject would be better for both of them. "Well, Matt wants to see you, so that's good news, right? After you put a shirt on, of course. Those bandages don't cover nearly enough."

"Shut up."

Lana guffawed, taking his quip as a positive sign. "Are you allowed to go outside?"

"No. That girl Sayu told me that my face is going to be prone to infection until the skin heals. She said I should stay inside for a few days."

Lana shrugged. "I'll bring Matt here, then. I'm sure he'll be thrilled. I'll be back in a second, okay?"

* * *

Stepping outside into the cool night air, Lana made her way over to Laboratory Eight. Just as she closed the door to Seven behind her, the woman was almost scared straight out of her skin.

"Lana."

"Fuck!" Said woman whipped around at the sound of her name, glaring daggers at the pale man who stood behind her. _He almost gave me a goddamn heart attack! _

L ignored her impolite outburst. "I must speak with you."

Lana sighed. "I don't have time for this right now, L. I have to go get Matt. Why don't you just keep thinking about finding B. That's what you do best, anyway." She stepped past him, intent on ignoring whatever empty words he had to say.

She had barely wrapped her hand around the doorknob when she froze in her tracks.

"I care for you."

The scarred woman thought that she must have heard him incorrectly—there was _no way _that _L_ just admitted something like that. It wasn't possible—she must be hallucinating.

"What?" She gaped, turning back around to face the detective. He looked much the same as she felt, with a peculiarly guarded look on his face.

"I said that I care for—"

"I heard you, but…where is this coming from?"

L bit the tip of his finger so viciously that Lana feared he would draw blood. "The way you were acting. You seemed very angry at me for doing nothing while B was at the station. So, for the first time, I am going to tell you the whole truth, Lana." L glanced toward the sky, his dark eyes twinkling in the scant starlight. "The reason I did nothing was because I could not—not with you standing there. Plain and simple, I felt caught. To act could prolong the fight and result in all of our deaths, while allowing you to take the gun from Matt would have made you a target. The second option would have worked—I most likely would have been able to subdue B—but I could not allow it to happen. I have failed as a detective, for you and the others."

Lana's eyes softened. "What do you mean you failed? If that's true, then you were just conflicted about what to do…"

"No. I failed. And I lied to you as well. From the very beginning, I made a vow to catch B no matter the cost—personal or otherwise. I told you that I would bring you back with me if you helped with the case, despite the fact that I have been forbidden by law and my associate to do so. I used you and the others to further my goal. I did all of this for the purpose of catching B, yet I ruined my first real chance at doing so. I am, in another man's words, a hypocrite. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me, and now you and Matt rightfully despise me for it."

By the time he finished his speech, Lana was dumbfounded. She had no idea that he felt this way—hell, she had even been debating whether or not the man _had_ feelings up until now. But if what he was saying was true…

"L…I never hated you," she told him softly. "I may have been pissed at you, but I never hated you. That's not how this works."

"How what works?"

This was it; the moment of truth. She wondered if she would be able to go through with it, or if she would chicken out at the last minute.

There was only one way to find out.

"L, I…"

Suddenly, the woman paused, distracted by a distant sound that was emanating from the darkness behind her.

By the time she placed the noise as shuffling footsteps, it was too late.

Dirty hands grabbed the woman's shoulders, yanking her backwards with such force that she landed straight on her back. Immediately, the person lunged for her, but Lana rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed. In her confusion, her attacker managed to grab ahold of her hair, pulling her up to her feet with a hiss of pain from the scarred woman.

She held in her scream when she met her attacker's eyes. They were empty, and the bones of his skull protruded from his jaundiced skin in a grotesque manner. Immediately, Lana knew that this man was infected.

Without thinking, she threw a punch, and blood spurted from his mouth. Still, he did not relinquish his hold on her hair.

"You fucking bitch," he growled at her, baring his decaying teeth.

She continued to throw her fists, drawing grunts and blood from the man, but he would not budge. Lana almost sighed in relief when L appeared behind him, and she nearly missed the sight of his foot beaming the man in the skull. Her attacker grunted, releasing his hold on Lana's hair. She twisted out of his reach, seeking out anything nearby that could be used as a weapon.

A few feet away, the dark-haired woman spotted a cylindrical trashcan. _A trashcan lid. Perfect._

At the same time she dove for the metal lid, she heard L cry out behind her.

"_Lana! Move left!"_

His warning came too late. Just as the woman's fingertips brushed the lid's handle, the man grabbed her outstretched arm—and both L and Lana watched in wide-eyed horror as he sank his rotting teeth into her flesh.

* * *

**Oh snap! I am so sorry to leave it like that. You know how I roll by this point. I can't wait to post the next two chapters! They're my favorites so far that I have planned, and you'll see why in a few weeks. **

** Until then, thanks for reading, and make sure to review!**

** —Vicious Ventriloquist**


	28. Disregarding Logic

**Author's Note: Hello. I like this chapter for many reasons, but mostly because of the chapter that comes after it. I hope you like it as well. :)**

** To WildfireDreams: "Crap" is right! At least now you get to see how it plays out.**

** To version15: Wait no longer! The next chapter is here! I hope you aren't too depressed. And you'll have to wait to see what she was going to say…hopefully not very long, though. **

** And yes, all is well. The same goes for you, I trust? My life is going reasonably well at the moment…I hope I didn't just jinx myself.**

** To CainToYourAbel: No problem with the tardiness. I love getting reviews, and I cherish every one of them, but I know not everyone has the time. I appreciate you taking time out of your day to send them to me :) **

** (On a side note, I always giggle when I remember that scene with the chips. Just…why?) I liked reading all your theories about the last chapter. This one should answer some of your questions!**

** Warnings: Profanity, Angst. **

* * *

**Chapter 28: Disregarding Logic**

It didn't take long to find the man he had seen outside the station.

Or, if Light were being honest, it would be more accurate to say that _he_ found _them_.

The man who looked like Ryuuzaki was stealthy, and Light already knew that he was formidable; he and Takada followed the unknown man's direction with caution, searching for any sign that he had changed his path down the street at some point. He could have cut through to another street; he could have turned in either direction up ahead; he could have taken shelter in one of the buildings, even.

Light would freely admit that this man was good at covering his tracks. Just as well, none of the buildings they passed by looked particularly lived in, or as though the doors and windows had been tampered with. He could have been in any of them…and the last thing the golden-haired man wanted was to be caught off guard by a man like that. He wanted to form a temporary alliance, but that was the extent of his trust. Allying himself with a man who shared a (somewhat) common goal was a far cry from any degree of faith he had in him.

As the pair wandered down the empty street, Light suddenly felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. His hair stood on end, and he reached out a hand to firmly grasp Takada's arm. She halted at his touch, turning to glance at him with a worried expression. The golden-haired man nodded at her, communicating to the woman to be silent.

"You, standing behind us," he called out, feeling somewhat smug for having caught the man in his tracks. "Would you mind showing yourself? I consider it extremely rude to spy on people without their knowledge."

"Well, how else is one supposed to spy on others? That seems like a redundant statement, don't you think?"

At the sound of the man's voice, both Light and Takada turned around—and were immediately taken aback by the appearance of the strange person standing in front of them. It was the same man who burned the radio station without question, and up close, Light was able to detect the faint physical discrepancies between him and Ryuuzaki—though the differences were slight, it was quite clear that the two were contrasting in demeanor.

As Light watched, the man with the shaggy hair grinned, and the awkward twist of his lips sent an unpleasant jolt down his spine. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about the way the man carried himself, the way he smiled as if he were being told a joke, did not sit right with the ex-police officer. He tried to ignore the sensation, focusing instead on the possibilities having such an ally would afford him.

"Yes," Light said, finally answering his question. "Are you denying the fact that watching others is considered rude in a social setting?"

"You consider me rude?" the stranger asked, tilting his head as if bewildered by such an accusation. "Quite a claim, considering your line of business."

Light's eyebrows drew together. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing particularly important…merely the fact that you used all those women for your own benefit. I never saw such a thing firsthand, but plenty of the women who escaped the explosion told me what you did. Is this one of them?" His eyes flicked over to Takada, who immediately shrank from the man's imposing stare. She drew closer to Light, but stayed eerily silent. "Or perhaps not. I suppose some men find value in a single woman, don't they? I wouldn't know anything substantial about that, being new to the whole concept of relationships, though you two do seem to be closer than would be expected from a man who uses women for monetary gain."

All of a sudden, as the man spoke, the pieces fell into place—and Light realized exactly why this man made him feel uneasy.

_Of course. It should have been obvious from the beginning…_ "It was you," he said, squinting at the stranger. "You were the one following us before."

The stranger smiled. "Smart of you," he praised Light. "I thought you noticed my presence, but I would not have thought you would recognize it to be me."

"Well, we actually came this way to find you. We wish to help you catch Ryuuzaki and Emerson—I'm assuming you know the pair I'm speaking of? The man looks very similar to you."

Light watched as the man's eyes lit up with a smile, one that almost looked sinister. "I knew you were after them as well," he whispered, "but this is a strange turn of events. You wish to help me…how interesting…" The man pondered Light's statement for a moment, and then nodded his head. "All right. I accept your proposal…and I think I have a good idea of where to start. From now on, we'll work together. You may call me Beyond."

* * *

Lana screamed in agony as the infected man sank his rotting teeth into her arm, breaking the skin even with the weakened enamel. Such was the force of his bite—but this didn't halt the woman in her actions. Her fingers closed around the handle of the trashcan lid, and with a heavy jerk, she swung the weapon backwards.

The sickening sound of metal slamming into bone reached her ears, as did the man's primal cry. He stumbled away from her, regained his footing, and came after her in the next second—only to receive another blow to the head. Blood splattered from his skull, and Lana closed her eyes as she felt it douse her clothes and skin. A heavy _thud_ sounded nearby, and everything went still; only the woman's breathing was audible as she opened her eyes and stared down at the man lying motionless beneath her.

She glanced away from the man she had killed—his wide, glassy eyes were more than enough proof for her—and met the gaze of L, who was staring back at her with the closest expression to fear she had ever seen on his face. Confused, Lana gaped wordlessly at him.

"What's wrong?"

L swallowed heavily before responding. "Your arm…" he whispered, apparently made speechless by the sight.

It was then that Lana fully processed the throbbing pain in her right arm; with dawning horror, the scarred woman registered the sensation of something wet—she realized it was the man's blood—not only on her face and neck, but running down her arm.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._ Scarlet blood ran profusely from the bite mark on her forearm, leaving an ever-growing puddle on the ground beside her. The young woman paled at the sight, an image of the infected man's decaying teeth flashing through her head.

_He bit me…an infected man bit me…does that mean that I…? Can biting someone transmit P.H.D.? If it can spread through the air, then surely biting a person could…_

The mere thought nearly caused Lana to vomit right then and there, and indeed, the dark-haired woman began to dry heave in disgust and horror. She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, but could not halt the rhythmic clenching of her abdomen as it tried in vain to force out nonexistent food. She leaned her injured arm against the alley wall in an attempt to regain her footing; she was fairly certain she would collapse if she tried to walk right now, with how her legs were shaking.

"Lana?" L called out as he watched her; when he saw her practically fall into the wall, he dashed over to her without hesitation. He grabbed her shoulders, holding her upright as she all but fell onto him. "Come inside. Perhaps Soichiro can—"

"No," she gasped, her mind a panicked blank. "I—he bit me. There's no way I'm not infected. There's no way I didn't—"

"Lana, _listen to me_," the detective commanded, tilting her chin so that she was staring into his dark eyes. "Are you listening?"

She stared blankly at him, but nodded her head in acknowledgment.

"Come inside," he repeated. "Standing out here and panicking will do nothing." His reassuring words were undermined by the fact that Lana could detect something in them, a false hope that was made obvious by the anxiety she could hear in his voice. He tugged on her uninjured arm, compelling her to move towards Laboratory Seven once again. The scarred woman, unable to say anything else, followed after him.

"Soichiro!" L called out as soon as they got inside. "We need immediate medical help. Lana is injured."

Not ten seconds later, the older man came in, flanked closely by Sayu. Upon seeing the returned pair—with Lana cradling her limp and bloodied right arm—the man's face quickly took on a stern expression.

"What happened?"

"We were attacked by an infected man," L said. "He…bit her."

Sayu gasped, but Soichiro looked unspeakably grim. Lana, for her part, didn't relish either of those reactions.

"Come with me," he told the young woman, all but tearing her out of L's grasp. The detective made to follow her, but was stopped by Soichiro's terse glare. "You stay here, son—Sayu will take you to another room."

"Wait, what?" Lana blurted out, stumbling over her own feet. "Where are you taking me?" Soichiro didn't answer, but she followed him regardless, only pausing to throw a glance over her shoulder at L. The man stared after her with a helpless expression, but made no move to go after her. He stood as still as a statue, his face a mask of stiff concern.

And as she was led away by Soichiro, Lana could not help but to wonder if she would see him again.

* * *

Soichiro took her to an empty room. The entire place was painted stark white but for the side with the door; that side was made of thick glass. The only furnishings available in the room were a tiny cot, a sink with basic toiletries, and a metal toilet.

_Like the ones in prisons_, Lana thought with a shudder. Looking around, she noticed that the door had a lock only on the outside. Just as well, there was a metal slot screwed onto the bottom of the door for what the scarred woman guessed was for delivering food. She was willing to bet that she wouldn't be able to stick her hand through it, either.

"Sit down, please," Soichiro told her, and without pausing to see if she obeyed, the older man left.

And Lana was left alone with her poisonous thoughts. She took a seat on the cot to give her jellified limbs a break, and was immediately consumed by an emotion she knew all too well: fear. It seemed to eat away at her very bones, making her stomach sink and the ground below feel as though it were ten miles away.

Was she going to die here? If she were infected, she was hedging her bets that Soichiro would not let her leave this room. Honestly, she would prefer to die outside…or not to die at all. Even so, everything right now seemed like a surreal dream. After everything she had been through—after everything she and L had been through—was this where she was supposed to say goodbye? She didn't want to accept it.

She _couldn't _accept it. She hadn't even gotten to tell him that she…

The clicks of a door opening and closing caught Lana's attention, and she stiffened upon seeing what Soichiro was wearing. A white hazmat suit…and a pair of black goggles.

_Oh, Jesus…I never wanted to see those goddamn things ever again…_

He carried a small case of first aid supplies with him as well, and set it down beside Lana on the cot. He wasted no time as he began setting out his instruments, ignoring the obvious shaking in the young woman's body. She never had done well with doctors, and at the moment her nerves were especially fraught with anxiety.

"Let me see your arm, please," Soichiro asked her. "I have to clean the wound as best I can."

She did as he said, mindful of the fact that her arm was shaking. "Is that all you can do? Clean it? And…and then I'll be fine?"

His movements stilled for barely a second before he resumed his swabbing of her arm. "If I were being honest, Lana…I don't know. I've never treated a bitten person before. I cannot say what will happen with any certainty, but I need you to stay in this room for a few days. The incubation period is usually three days for regular airborne infections, so I will have you stay for five, since I'm not sure how the virus reacts when spread through blood. You'll have to remove these clothes as well, and rub your skin with a bleach solution." As he spoke, Lana felt a moist cloth rubbing at the bloodstains on her face and neck, and she shivered in response. "I'll take some of your blood now to check and see if there are any traces of the virus."

Cold dread washed over her as she felt a needle pierce her skin, filling the scarred woman's mind with momentary panic. "I don't know" wasn't very reassuring coming from the Surgeon General, but it also wasn't an outright prognosis of her death. She might have a chance…but still, given the situation, Lana did not have very high hopes. There was only one person she wanted to see right now that would make her feel even an iota better.

"Where is L—Ryuuzaki?" she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion.

Soichiro glanced at her sadly as he wrapped her arm in gauze. "He's in a similar room on the opposite side of the building. We're testing him as well. If all works out, he should be able to leave in three days. You can see him then."

So that meant there was a chance L could die, too. Lana could not stop the tears that flooded her eyes; she allowed them to drip onto her folded hands.

Soichiro said nothing else as he patted her on the arm with a tight-lipped expression. "The wall where we came in will allow me to monitor your progress. If you would like, I can allow the others to come see you tomorrow."

_To say goodbye_, Lana finished in her head. She knew that Soichiro probably didn't mean it that way, but she couldn't help but to be cynical. Wiping her eyes, the young woman nodded her head. "Yeah…that would be g-great." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

She didn't know if Soichiro could make out her garbled "Thank you" through her sobs, but she liked to think that he did.

* * *

Over the course of the next three days, almost everyone in the building came to see her. On the first day—the day after she was put in quarantine—Near, Matsuda, and Misa appeared in front of the glass wall. Lana was surprised when they came; both Matsuda and Misa sported uncomfortable grins, while Near maintained his usual bland look. Matsuda seemed to be the most outwardly nervous. His eyes were red and puffy, and Lana could immediately tell that he had been crying before he came here. Misa actually _was_ crying, and she did nothing to stem her tears.

Near, on the other hand, merely sat down in front of the glass wall with his usual posture and stared at her across the void.

Despite wanting to do the contrary, the scarred woman grinned when she saw them.

"Hey, guys," she called out, her voice hoarse from what she hoped was her earlier crying. "Thanks for coming."

At that, Misa only sobbed harder—which did absolutely nothing to raise Lana's morale. Really, this was ridiculous; the only one who was helping her spirits at this point was Near.

"Hey, Em," Matsuda said, lapsing back into the habit of using her old nickname. "You look…good."

Lana smiled gently at him, and went over to sit down beside the glass barrier, right in front of Near. "You don't have to try to act strong, Matsuda. I should be the one bawling my eyes out. Besides, I'm not dead yet, am I?"

Matsuda sniffled, but smiled back at her regardless. He wrapped an arm around the shaking Misa's shoulders.

Lana sighed, her eyes burning as she watched the pair try to hold in their emotions. "Come on, guys. You're going to make me start crying."

After a few moments, Matsuda seemed to regain some of his composure, and he gave her a genuine smile. "Don't worry, Em!" he said. "I know you'll pull through. You were always really strong."

"Yeah," sniffled Misa. "You beat the crap out of that guy named Higuchi, remember? You can beat this thing."

"I don't think that's the same thing, Misa," Lana said, "but thank you." She smiled sadly, and was startled by the sudden _thunk_ against the glass barrier. She glanced down to see a small, pale hand pressed against the glass, its fingers spread as though expecting someone to grasp it.

Near stared at her through the barrier, his face as blank as ever but holding something she had never seen the young boy express.

Sorrow.

With watery eyes, Lana pressed her palm flat against the glass, her hand dwarfing his. She knew that he didn't need to use words to express what he was feeling; she could already tell.

"Thanks, Near."

* * *

Mello came later, with his usual brand of subtlety and constipated expression, but this time he actually looked concerned. Lana knew that he was an emotional person, but she never expected him to be so worried for her welfare—though she supposed recent developments had made them more friendly with one another.

She didn't notice the blonde's arrival at first, seeing as the scarred woman was occupied with staring blankly at the opposite wall. She only took notice of his presence when he called her name.

"Lana," he said, knocking on the glass with a clenched fist. Said woman instantly spun around, almost cringing when she saw his new face. He still looked bad, though a bit better than he had two days ago. It occurred to her then that she herself hadn't looked in a mirror lately, so she wasn't willing to bet that she looked stellar right now either.

"Sayu told me that I could see you," the blonde continued. "I would ask how you're feeling, but I already know the answer."

"Look at you, acting all empathetic," the scarred woman observed. "Are you sure you're Mello?"

Mello hesitated, shifting from foot to foot in apparent discomfort. Lana mentally chastised herself; perhaps she had been too harsh. Either way, she could see where this was going, and she was _not_ looking forward to it.

"Listen…I know we haven't always gotten along—not at all, really—but…Sayu told me about how you saved Matt, and how you came to check on me when I was unconscious. Thanks for that."

Lana closed her eyes, trying not to grin at the uncharacteristically humble tone of voice. Surely, if Mello were apologizing to her, the world must have been ending.

For her, at least. "No problem, Mello. What are friends for?"

There was complete silence for a few moments, and then the blonde seemed to draw forth the courage to speak again. "When I first met you, you reminded me of someone I used to know. The way you protected that little shit made me freeze up. It didn't help that you look a little like her, too."

Lana was more than surprised at the sudden shift in mood. "Huh…what was her name?"

"Emilia."

"Nice name. I would've liked to meet the girl who brought you to your knees. How did you meet her?"

"She lived with Matt and I at the group home…she had a little brother, too. She loved that kid more than anything."

For the millionth time that day, the dark-haired woman's eyes filled with tears. "I can relate…what happened to her?"

"She got shot by a kid who was trying to leave during the outbreak. It was an accident…there was nothing we could do. The kid left, and her brother wasn't the same after that. The next day…he was just gone. I never saw him again. He didn't say anything to anyone, he just packed his things…and left."

He didn't need to say anything else for Lana to get the very clear message: no kid could have survived for so long on his own. "…I'm sorry. And...thanks, Mello. For telling me."

Then, to Lana's surprise, the blonde said the most honest thing she had heard for two days.

"Well, I might not have another chance to do it. If things go to hell, I don't want to have any more regrets. I already have enough for a lifetime."

Lana opened her mouth to reply, and was immediately seized by a violent coughing fit. Her lungs seemed to freeze up as the wind was choked from her throat, and she desperately sucked at the stagnant air. Momentary panic took over as she tried to catch her breath, but it subsided as air returned to her in gradual gasps.

When she glanced back up at Mello, he was staring at her with a stiff expression.

Lana returned his stare with a smile. "Yeah…me, too."

* * *

The next time Lana heard someone come into the observation room, she was on the brink of sleep—and viciously pulled out of it by the sound of someone banging their fist on the barrier.

"Girly!"

Rubbing her sore eyes, the scarred woman sat up and walked with a tired shuffle over to the glass. She was pleasantly surprised to see Matt being supported by Itzel, with Mogi standing solemnly behind them. She put on her best fake smile, hoping that it would appease them.

It didn't.

"What the hell happened, girly?" Itzel asked her.

The other woman shrugged. "I got bitten by an infected guy…there's not much else to tell."

Before Itzel could respond, Mogi addressed the scarred woman. "I'm sorry that Aizawa isn't here—he's still out searching for supplies. I'm sure he would want to see you, though."

"…Yeah. Thanks, Mogi," Lana said, grateful for the man's honesty.

"This is my fault," Matt burst out, the stark panic obvious in his green eyes. Though he usually retained a calm, even aloof demeanor, the copper-haired man looked disturbingly unhinged. "I wanted to go see Mello…you went to check on him for me…" He trailed off as Lana smiled morosely at him.

"Now who's the one blaming themselves?" she teased.

"This isn't funny!" he snapped. "How can you act like this is nothing?"

"Keeping me here is a safety precaution, Matt. Besides, you know as well as I do that the incubation period can be up to three days. And you'd better damn well know that this isn't your fault. I was the one who was standing outside—it's my fault. And I've been—"

Once again, Lana nearly hacked up a lung as coughs racked her body. She doubled over with the strain on her midsection, and managed to catch her breath after only a few seconds this time. When she looked back up, she found herself staring into Matt's horrified eyes.

"Shit," Lana mumbled, grunting as she tried to get rid of the scratchy sensation in her throat.

All three of the people on the other side of the glass stared at her with sad expressions. This only made the young woman more determined to get her words out while she could.

"Listen, guys, right now it's not looking so good for me…I just wanted to ask, if I end up like all those people in the camps and on the streets…let Soichiro use me for research if he wants. I don't really care what happens to my body, as long as you promise me one thing."

"What is it?" Itzel asked, her voice quaking slightly.

Lana took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Please…just don't let Ryuuzaki see me like that. Please, I—I really don't want that to be his last memory of me. I know it sounds selfish, but…"

Both Mogi and Itzel nodded, the latter with tears in her eyes, but Matt just stared at her with a pained expression. "What about us?" he whispered. "What about us? That guy doesn't even care."

A tragic grin forced its way to Lana's lips, and her eyes burned with tears as she stared at Matt. Her voice was broken when she spoke next. "You're wrong, Matt. I know he does. I could see it in his face when Soichiro took me away…and I care about him, too."

The frown lines in the copper-haired man's face became deeper.

"Listen…I know that you like me, probably more than I want you to. Forget about me. I'm not worth the trouble. As you can see, I cause more trouble than I'm worth. Remember how much Mello needs you around—how much the others care about you, too. Don't get stuck in the past." To her shock, Lana realized that they were both crying. "I did that for seven years, and it didn't get me shit. You know what really got me through it? My best friend."

"But—"

"Don't try to prove me wrong right now. You know I'm right. All you can do for me now is hope that I don't go crazy."

"…That's a pretty shitty prospect."

Lana shrugged. "I'm trying to make peace with it. Sometimes that's all you can do."

* * *

Three days passed her by with little clarity; they seemed to blend into one another as she awaited her expected demise. Her cough steadily grew more severe, culminating in an all-out attack on the third day. After that, it seemed to plateau. It still sucked, but Lana supposed that it was markedly better than coughing up her internal organs.

Apart from the cough, she felt fine—but the scarred woman knew that appearances could be deceptive. She was careful not to hope for too much.

As time passed, Lana began to feel more relaxed. She grew more accustomed to her surroundings, and even seemed to finally make peace with the idea that she might slowly lose her shit in a place that looked like heaven's armpit. For some reason, after seeing all the others, death didn't seem so bad—it didn't seem scary to her. What was scarier was the fact that she might _not _die, that she might stay alive and suffer with the agony of slowly descending into madness.

And she still wanted to see one person before that happened. Before she could no longer distinguish friend from foe, she wanted to see L again.

Maybe she was already losing her mind—or maybe she was finally starting to accept her imminent departure from this world. Either way, she felt better now that her tear ducts seemed to have gone completely dry. If she truly allowed herself to feel the depths of her loneliness, if she allowed herself to think too hard about what was going to happen to her, she would only make matters worse.

Still, being alone was starting to get to her.

But finally, on the third day, the door to the observation room slid open cautiously.

"Lana," a quiet voice said.

The scarred woman wondered if she had already begun to hallucinate when she heard the man's voice, but she quickly cast that thought aside when she saw him standing on the other side of the glass.

L was staring at her through the barrier, and Lana knew that she wasn't imagining the relief she saw on his face—she was sure that she wore the same expression.

"L…" She nearly tripped over her own feet as she walked over to the glass, for her eyes were fixated on nothing else besides the man's face. She practically fell against the glass, pressing her palms flat against the transparent surface to catch herself. She lowered them after a moment, wiping her sweaty palms against her pant leg. "You're alive…"

He nodded stiffly. "Soichiro told me that my blood is clean. Sayu bleached my shirt for me. Unfortunately, the same could not be done for my jeans."

Indeed, he was speaking the truth; he was now sporting a pair of black cargo pants. They looked strange on him, though this was probably because she had never seen him wear anything else besides blue jeans.

"You wear them well," the young woman observed teasingly, her voice catching on the last word.

L narrowed his eyes at her. "Lana…I was not certain if I would be able to speak with you again."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Me neither."

"I wanted to ask you…what had you been about to say before we were attacked?"

Lana's stomach sank. Right now was the perfect opportunity to share her thoughts, possibly the only one she would get before they were consumed by her degenerating mind. She should tell him…but would that be the right thing to do? It would be the honest thing, she knew; but would it be the humane option? L still had a goal in mind; he needed to catch B, to save the world. Telling him her thoughts would only distract him from his mission…and she, more than anything else in the world, did not want to cause him any more pain. He had already suffered enough for a lifetime—the both of them had.

For his sake, she would be willing to suffer a little more.

Her breath caught in her throat as Lana raised her hands to the glass once again, pressing her palms flat against the cool material. She smiled softly when L did the same. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she leaned her forehead against the glass, and she closed them when she felt the faint pressure of the detective copying her gesture.

Though they were separated by the wall of glass, Lana could almost believe that she felt the warmth of his skin through the barrier.

"_I'm sorry_," she breathed, savoring the goosebumps that prickled on her flesh from the cold glass. She opened her eyes to find L's confused ones impossibly close to her own.

"For what?" he asked her.

"For everything. For being too emotional, for getting angry at you all the time, and for believing even for a second that you didn't care. It was stupid of me—hell, maybe I'm just a fucking idiot. I…care about you, too. I hope you know that, and I always will, even if I lose my mind and it seems like I hate you. That won't change—I promise."

There; it wasn't completely what she wanted to say, but it was good enough for her, and it felt like enough of a goodbye for her to get some closure from it—and hopefully, he did, too.

"Soichiro told me that he will test your blood in two days," L said softly, his voice heavy with emotion.

The scarred woman didn't blame him for not responding to her confession; the stricken expression on his face said it all. She nodded back at him, glancing down at the ground.

"I will stay with you until then."

In shock, Lana glanced back up at him. "But—you have to sleep sometime, L. Do you plan to stay in here for two whole days?"

A noncommittal shrug was all she received. "Apart from using the bathroom, yes. Where else would I sleep?"

And, to her eternal gratitude, L stayed true to his word.

* * *

They must have looked a sight when Soichiro came back to check on her on the fifth day. They were both dirty and greasy from sitting in one place for so long. L was slumped against the glass, as was Lana, and their backs were pressed up against each other's. Their bodies were as close as humanly possible, something that Lana still found unbelievable.

As honest as ever, L really_ had_ stayed in that room for two days; every time Sayu brought Lana food, she made sure to bring extra for the detective. He never left, as he had promised, unless one of them had to go to the bathroom. (Lana still wasn't quite comfortable with _that_.) The scarred woman reasoned that they both smelled ungodly awful at this point.

Soichiro grunted as he entered the room, something which was unnecessary seeing as neither of them were asleep.

"Lana," L said, tapping on the glass. "Soichiro is here."

Though the woman was not asleep, she _was_ extremely fatigued, and did not notice the older man enter. "Huh?"

Soichiro stepped forward. "I have to test your blood, Lana. Ryuuzaki, if you wouldn't mind waiting outside? I have to open the door."

L hesitated, but left as he had been told. Soichiro entered Lana's room wearing the same hazmat suit as before, only this time he was already brandishing a needle. She sighed when she saw it, but stood up and presented her arm. She felt only a small pinch, and then it was done.

"Thank you, Lana. I'll be back in a few minutes."

And so, once again, she waited.

* * *

L stayed with her until Soichiro came back again, but this time the older man didn't ask him to leave. In fact, he seemed not even to notice that L was there; there was an odd perplexed gleam in his eye.

Lana tried to stem the anxiety that ran through her veins. What was wrong? Had something happened with her blood? She knew that she was probably infected, but it was only now that the young woman realized just how wrong she hoped she was.

"Lana, how have you been feeling the past few days?"

The scarred woman furrowed her brows. "Umm…not so good. I had a really bad cough up until the third day, but it's been better since then. Come to think of it, I haven't an attack at all today. Why?" She had assumed such a disparity was due to the virus's dynamic nature; was she wrong?

Soichiro's eyes went wide at her admission. "Impossible…but I suppose it can't be, since I've seen the evidence myself."

"What happened?" L asked, impatience evident in his tone. "Is she sick?"

"That's the issue," Soichiro explained. "When I took the first sample of her blood, I definitely detected the virus within it. However, when I analyzed today's sample, I found no trace of P.H.D. whatsoever. And then, when I went back to compare it to the original sample, I found that all traces of the virus had been eradicated. It's the strangest thing…but Lana, I do believe that your body managed to destroy the virus. I have no idea why—the human body is especially fallible to this type of rapidly replicating virus. It makes no sense—but if you'll permit me, I'd like to use your blood as a base for more experiments."

She didn't answer Soichiro's request; shock froze Lana's limbs, and she began to shake against her will. Was this true? Had she really purged herself of the virus? Hope crested in her heart, filling her chest with warmth and her eyes with relieved tears. "You mean…"

"Yes, Lana. You are free to go. I just need to find you some new clothes—I'm sure you would like to bathe at this point as well. And you never answered my question, either."

At his statement, the scarred woman could not help but to release a burst of giddy laughter.

* * *

After hurriedly cleaning her hair and body with the dry shampoo and soap Sayu provided, Lana almost felt like a new person. Being locked in that room for five days was definitely a nerve-wracking experience, but she also found it to be almost therapeutic—because she had _survived_.

Believing that you are going to die was never a positive thing, and it often drove people to extreme lengths in order to avoid the inevitable. However, if one were to come out of that experience with a new acceptance of their life, with _closure,_ then it could be the most liberating thing in the world.

This was exactly how Lana felt as she dashed down the hallways of Laboratory Eight, searching for the man who had infused meaning and purpose into her life for the past two days.

_He's in Room 103_, Sayu had said. _He's probably waiting for you. Best not to keep him, right?_

It _was_ best. She hadn't told him everything; she had wanted to, but she had euphemized the truth so as not to cause him more strife. But she was _alive_, and she didn't plan on going anywhere. Starting right now, she was going to make every second count.

Lana burst into the room just as L stood up from his cot, and for a moment there were no words uttered between them. They stared at each other, him with surprise, and her with desperation that showed clearly in the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She had practically sprinted all the way here.

Without so much as a greeting, she told him the one thing that had been on her mind for the past five days.

"I love you."

* * *

**I take it that you all know where this is going. Yes, as I had promised long ago in my original Author's Note for the first chapter, there will be lemons in this story. You've all waited patiently up until now, so I hope that you can all wait a little longer! I should have the next chapter up pretty soon! **

**As always, thanks for reading, and I love hearing your guys' feedback!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	29. Feelings

**Author's Note: And here it is. What some of you have been waiting for patiently for a total of twenty-nine chapters. (Has it really been that long?!) I figured I'd warn you about the lemon at the end of the last chapter, at the beginning of this one, and in the warning beneath the review responses just to make it clear. Probably overkill, but whatever. Enjoy ;)**

** To WildfireDreams: *Insert appreciation for your continued support here* :)**

** To I-saw-it-first: Glad the feels got to you, haha. It's nice to know that writing that emotionally draining scene paid off! **

** To version15: I was hoping that people would infer what she was going to say. Of course, I didn't want to just drop the L-bomb until the point where it would have the most impact. Glad you liked it :) Hope you like this update!**

** To RaspberryDiamonds: Thank you! I was wondering if that was the best place to end it, and when I re-read the chapter I was like "Hell yeah." **

** To garnet86: I would think so, lol. I always get so frustrated when I'm looking forward to an update and then the new chapter ends on an even worse cliffhanger than the one before. At least you didn't have to deal with that problem last time! **

** To Graveyard of Hearts: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you weep :( Though, in my opinion, I tend to enjoy stories that have more emotion to them. I find them easier to relate to and get invested in, so I'm glad it seemed to have an effect on you. Thanks for reading :)**

**To CainToYourAbel: I'm glad you liked it! You know I had to have an angsty scene with all of them. And yes, things certainly are looking up. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

** Warnings: Lemon, Profanity, Violence. THE BIG THREE.**

* * *

**Chapter 29: Feelings**

"I love you."

In her mind, Lana had envisioned a scene much less anticlimactic than the reality she was currently facing; with the palpable silence in the room, one could have heard a pin drop. L stared at her, and she stared back, wondering if perhaps he had simply not heard her—but no, she had practically yelled it. There was no way he hadn't heard her confession.

In all honesty, though, the dark-haired woman didn't know what she had expected to happen after she told him—certainly nothing even remotely akin to those beyond cheesy scenes in movies, where the emotionally constipated and love-starved characters finally admit their feelings for each other, resulting in a wildly unbelievable and comical display of their mutual affection. That kind of thing didn't happen in real life, especially considering the obtuse nature of the man she was declaring her feelings for. So, Lana wasn't sure what she had expected from him—she just hoped that no matter what it was, it wouldn't be disappointing.

Predictably, it took L a moment to respond to her unexpected admission, and funnily enough, in the ensuing silence Lana had never been tenser in all her life.

"L?" The unusual timidity of her voice must have caught the detective's attention, for his detached eyes focused in on her face.

"You…love me?" he repeated, the word sounding odd on his tongue. It was enough to make the young woman wonder if he had ever said it to anyone before—or, more importantly, if anyone had ever said it to _him_. She couldn't picture the man having ever been in a meaningful relationship before, and he didn't exactly come across as the poster child for the benefits of parental love.

_Leave it to him to make things awkward as fuck. _"Um…yeah." _I guess that I'm not really helping any, though. Neither of us are really good at being heartfelt. _"Are you saying that you…don't love _me_?" For the first time, the scarred woman found herself dreading the answer. No male—apart from her father and her brother, as well as a few uncles and cousins—had ever told her that he loved her, and neither had she. Sure, she had a few boyfriends in her teen years, but all of them were dead—and none of them had been serious or even remotely intelligent. A combination of low self-image (ironic, considering her present state of appearance) in her younger days and a general lack of mature contestants had resulted in a series of overtly shallow relationships. The boys she chose reflected the absence of value she found in herself—they were as intellectually stimulating as drying mud, as supportive as a broken beam, and as caring as she found herself deserving. On average, they had each lasted a grand total of three months, and the relationships consisted mostly of venting sexual frustration and low self-esteem—not exactly the romanticized version of "love" so many other kids her age had strived for. And as a result, she had never gotten time to further develop her feelings for them—if they were ever there in the first place, which Lana seriously doubted.

Because of this, the scarred woman had also never had her feelings of love rejected. She had never imagined waiting for someone to respond to her confession to be so nerve-wracking—but now, as she waited with bated breath for L to answer her, she realized just how wrong—and foolish—she had been. With every second of continuous silence that passed, it felt as though another crack was being carved into the organ in her chest. This must have shown on her face, because L quickly moved to answer her question.

As it turned out, he did an extremely shitty job of it.

"No. I already told you that I care about you, did I not?"

Lana's eyes widened in disbelief; she was almost unable to comprehend the man's apparent cluelessness. Did he really not understand the difference between mere caring and _love_? Not for the first time, she found herself wondering just what the hell his childhood had been like. "Yeah, but that's not the same thing, L! You can _care_ about an acquaintance, or a best friend's sibling. Hell, you can even care about whether or not it's going to rain during your friend's cousin's bar mitzvah. Love is different. It's…"

L cocked his head at her. "It is what?"

The scarred woman bit her lip, conflicted over how best to convey one of the world's strongest emotions to a man who acted like he didn't have any. "It's like…well, fuck. It's like you care about someone, but in a different way than you might care about a friend you barely see. When you love someone, it's like that person is special to you in a way that you can't always describe or understand. You want to protect them…sometimes more than you want to protect yourself or anyone else. You want to be with them, even when they act like a complete dickhead." Lana smirked at that last line, taking a few steps closer to where L stood by the cot. "I don't know if this makes any sense to you—I can be total shit at explaining things—but it's like you value their happiness more than your own. If they died, you wouldn't know what to do at first—maybe not even for the rest of your life. You almost can't imagine life without them, or having never met them, because then you wouldn't be the person you are today. I don't know…is this making any sense to you?"

At this point, the scarred woman was standing right in front of L, and he was staring down at her with pensive eyes. "It makes perfect sense," he told her, chewing casually on his lip. "Based on what you have just told me, and your definition of love…"

He took a moment to think, leaving Lana with the breath caught in her throat. She swore that he enjoyed making her suffer sometimes.

"…I suppose that I also return the sentiment."

A metaphorical punch in the gut—though decidedly less painful—drew the air from Lana's lungs, and she stared up at the detective in hopeful shock. "What?"

"I said that I love you as well," L repeated, shooting her a quizzical expression. "Is that not the answer you wanted?"

A spark of mutual disbelief and happiness crested in the woman's heart, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure…before promptly throwing her head back and releasing a giddy laugh. Her loud guffaws shook her entire frame, leaving her with tears pressing against the corners of her eyes. "Jesus," she mumbled through her cackling, "you can be such an _idiot_."

"What do you mean?"

"L," she said softly, her tone taking a sudden shift as her laughter died down. She placed her hands on his shoulders, tilting her head upwards so that their faces were mere inches apart. "Why would I tell you that I loved you unless I meant it? Of course I wanted you to say it back."

The detective stared at the hand on his shoulder, raising one of his own and wrapping his long fingers around her wrist. "So what does this mean? I must admit, I am not as experienced in the ways of relationships as you seem to be."

Lana smiled, biting her lip as a devious thought entered her mind. "Well, we should probably get back to finding B. But first…if it's okay with you, I want to try something."

"What is it?"

The dark-haired woman brought their faces closer together, sliding her other hand to the nape of his neck and tangling her fingers in his messy hair. "Something that I've wanted to do for a while now…but until now, I was too much of an idiot to wait for the right moment."

With that, Lana pulled his face close to hers, closing the gap between their lips.

And hell, she would be a liar if she said that it wasn't a hundred times better than when she was drunk. Her mistake a few months back and even the brief stint in Matt's studio now seemed like an ethereal dream compared to what she now felt when she kissed L, mainly because now it felt _real_. It wasn't a byproduct of a hazy, alcohol-induced flop or of her desperate attempts to feel _something_, but of feelings long smothered and kept under wraps.

And this time, unlike the others, L responded with equal, if not a bit clumsy, fervor.

It was strange, Lana thought; as she melded their lips together, her eyes slid closed of their own accord. She did not think consciously about her movements when she was kissing him. It seemed to come almost naturally to her, as though she had subconsciously been planning out this scenario in her head for quite a while. As it turned out, she _was_ a hopeless romantic, after all. Who would have thought?

The dark-haired woman coaxed L to open his mouth, prodding against his lips with her tongue. At her insistence his grip on her wrist tightened. He went rigid, and Lana sighed against his mouth.

"You're too stiff," she murmured, the statement sounding almost like an innuendo to her perverted ears. "Just relax—I'll go slowly this time, okay?"

He didn't respond in words, but the detective seemed to get her message anyway. L's body loosened slightly, and he parted his lips, allowing the young woman's tongue to roam his mouth at her behest. He tried to respond to her prodding tongue with equal enthusiasm, and Lana smiled against his mouth. She tightened her fingers' hold on his hair, and ever so slightly began guiding him backwards towards the cot.

His unoccupied hand latched onto her hips as the back of his knees pressed against the temporary bed, and he broke the kiss as Lana implored him to sit with her body language. He did so, but he pulled back to stare at her as she leaned over him. The scarred woman grinned wolfishly at the blank curiosity on his face, a sort of sadistic pleasure running through her at the sight.

"What happened?" she said in an airy voice, leaning in close to him once again.

"Nothing," he responded at once, reaching his hands up to hesitantly cup her waist. "Go on."

_So damn practical_, she thought with a good-natured scoff. Really, she was just happy that she didn't have to move his hands for him in order to get him to touch her. She inclined her head to kiss him again.

They continued on in this way for a few more minutes, filling the empty air with the sounds of increasingly labored breathing and the hissing of skin against skin. Before she knew it, Lana realized that the both of them were settled on the cot, with her practically sitting in L's lap. With a satisfied smirk and a blush, the scarred woman slid her hands beneath the fabric of his white shirt. He instantly tensed against her fingers as they grazed his abdomen, and his grip on her hips tightened. Lana hesitated for a moment, but continued on with her movements once L seemed to relax against her. Slowly, she began to slide the white fabric up, revealing the pale skin of his stomach…and at the same time, L's hands descended to her rear.

The detective's boldness took Lana by surprise, but she liked it nonetheless. She followed his movements with her body, releasing a sigh of contentment as L smoothed his hands down her backside. He cupped her with a hesitant caress, and in response, the scarred woman did something subconsciously wicked; she rolled her hips against his lap, grinding down on him with clear intent.

Almost immediately, Lana felt L stiffen beneath her. She would have been concerned, but was somewhat (an understatement, really) distracted by the wave of pleasure that went through her center. Though his hands tightened on her, the dark-haired woman couldn't help but notice the increasing insecurity of his movements. She pulled away in spite of her body's protests, and glanced down at L's face.

He looked as flushed as she felt, but a cloud of uncertainty that she had never witnessed in him hung over his head. And this time, she couldn't figure out _why_. The times when he had rejected her before made sense; she had been either drunk or irresponsible (or a combination of the two), but this time was different, wasn't it? She told him she loved him, and he said the same—so what was the problem? He shouldn't be wary of touching her anymore, unless…

And then, with the force of an incoming train, it hit her. "L…" she whispered, her eyes boring deeply into his, "are you a virgin?"

When he nodded nonchalantly, Lana's jaw almost dropped. _No way_—she knew that he wasn't very well conditioned with relating to people, and that he seemed to be lacking in basic social cues, but the scarred woman never considered the fact that he had never had sex. It made sense, though. His inability to take advantage of her, his insensitivity to other's emotions, his blind dedication to his job—it all made sense. Frankly, she was still shocked—but in a way, it also made L more endearing.

"I never quite got around to it, though I have heard many people make it a large priority. Does it upset you?"

Lana quickly shook her head. "No, it doesn't. It's fine. It's…perfect." And, she realized with warmth in the pit of her belly, she meant it. "Are you okay with this, then?"

Her hands continued to slide his white shirt up his abdomen, and he nodded against her as she pressed the tips of their noses together. He helped her to slide his arms out of the garment, and she tossed the shirt blindly to the side. She pulled back to stare at him, hungrily drinking in the image of his pale chest. A lone freckle grinned shyly at her from his collarbone, and Lana could feel the goose bumps rise across his skin where her lips touched it. She heard the very audible gasp he released when she began kissing the pale skin of his shoulder. To the dark-haired woman's pleasant surprise, his skin burned hot—hotter than she ever would have expected.

As she laved attention on his shoulder and collarbone, slowly inching her way towards his throat, she felt tentative hands begin to tug at the hem of her shirt. Long fingers roamed beneath the fabric, skimming over her hips and dragging the shirt upwards as she had done a moment prior. At the same time, Lana sighed audibly against L's throat, voicing her appreciation for his continued effort. Warmth spiked in her veins, traveling up through her spine and into her scalp as the contrasting sensations of both cold air and warm fingertips teased her with relentless fervor. L traced her spine with his nails as he pulled her shirt over her head, and the dark-haired woman shivered involuntarily against him. Lana wondered at the thought that they were barely touching each other, but she already felt as though he was going to drive her mad.

Her top joined his on the floor, but before the detective could get a good look at her without her shirt she was forcing him backwards, gently imploring him to lie on his back. He followed her lead, and when he did Lana slid her body upwards, pressing her clothed center against his and leaning over his splayed form. She pressed her forehead to his, shooting him a coy grin. Then, to the young woman's surprise, L did something that she had not been expecting—he returned her grin. At that, Lana blushed and sat back up, displaying her bra-clad cleavage for him to see.

And see he did—his dark eyes scrutinized her as they had never done before, lingering on her chest and stomach before crawling back up to her face. She grinned back at him, her entire front inflamed with heat, and with a fire burning in her stomach began to slide the straps of her bra off of her shoulders. Then, with a single click, it was gone—and cool air assaulted her chest, immediately causing goose bumps to bloom across her skin.

The scarred woman found herself blushing pleasantly at L's widened eyes, but she didn't stop there; she tossed her bra out of the way, leaning closer to the man so as to coax him without words to touch her.

Apparently sexual instinct _did _play a role in his subconscious thought process, because after a few seconds, he pushed himself up to his elbows. L was nearly on eye level with her now, and his hand hesitantly reached towards her. It quivered slightly, and Lana was itching to simply grab his wrist and pull him closer, because she was _dying_, for God's sake—but no, she had to let him go at his own pace. She had been pressuring him for long enough as it was; from now on, Lana was going to let _him_ call the shots—so long as he actually knew what he was doing.

His dark eyes seemed to be communicating with her, silently asking if this was okay. It was more than okay, of course, but she merely smiled at the detective, and pressed herself closer in nonverbal confirmation.

When L touched her breast for the first time, the dark-haired woman would be lying if she said that it didn't bring her a sigh of relief—but she would also be lying if she said that L wasn't a bit clumsy. His fingers traced the outline of her breast as though unsure of what to do—which, Lana noted, he probably was.

"Here," she said, raising her own hand to her other breast. "Do this."

As L watched with fascinated eyes, Lana proceeded to fondle her own breast, pulling and pinching at her nipple and periodically squeezing the globe of flesh in the way she knew felt good to her. L idled between watching her hand and watching her expression as she teased herself in front of him, knowing that her own eyes were darkening with lust.

"I see," he said, his voice weighed down. He began to mimic her movements, and as soon as he did Lana arched her back against him, pushing herself further into his hand. She hummed against his skin, pressing her face into the hollow of his throat. She could feel him exhaling against her neck as well, and as he continued to tease her Lana noticed his breathing subtly picking up speed. Pleasure bloomed in her chest, coiling in her stomach but only making it so that she wanted _more_.

Lana closed her eyes as her hand reached down, snaking across L's stomach and straining for the clasp of his pants. As her fingers began to tug at the button, the detective suddenly stiffened beneath her, and he let go of her breast to make a grab for her wrist.

"L?" she breathed, resisting the urge to whine at the loss of sensation when he released her. "What is it? Are you okay?" She hadn't been moving too fast, had she?

"More than okay," L replied, sounding out of breath and reassuring the dark-haired woman immensely. "But it occurs to me that you may become pregnant if we continue."

A thrill ran through her at the thought that he believed this was a prelude to sex; it seemed for the first time that they were both on the same page. It would be dishonest to say that she wasn't nervous, but at the same time Lana felt more excited than she had for a long while. Whatever this man was doing to her, she didn't want it to stop. Even his apparent concern for the repercussions of his actions did not halt the increasing need that flowed through her veins. The scarred woman reached into her back pocket and pulled out a square of foil and plastic. "Well, duh. That's why Sayu gave me this before I came here."

L glanced at the object she held between her fingers: a small package that contained a single pink pill. At the man's uncomprehending look, Lana explained, "She gave it to me so I won't get pregnant, L. She isn't an idiot, you know. Sayu even told me that I shouldn't keep you waiting. She also begged me to never tell her father that she had them. I think this one's about to expire, though, so I should take it right after."

L still looked a bit uncertain, though Lana could see in his eyes that he was intent on returning to the task at hand. "If you are certain—"

"I _am_, L. I promise I won't get pregnant."

At the man's tentative nod, the pair resumed their tryst, and her hand descended to his trousers once again. She blushed deeply when she rubbed against him, feeling his hardening length brush against her clothed center. That didn't stop him, though; L made a clumsy attempt to replicate her motions with his own hands, though he had a significantly more difficult time with it. In the end, Lana helped him remove his pants first, momentarily lifting herself off of him so as to allow the man to kick them off. Now, the only clothing that remained between them were L's boxers and Lana's unzipped pants.

The young woman ran her hands across the detective's chest, drawing shivers from the light touches she placed on his skin. She felt his lips latch onto her neck, gently suckling at the skin of her throat. Lana smiled, quivering against him as she took notice of L's own hands sliding across her lower back and stomach. She _definitely_ noticed when his right hand descended into the front of her pants, slipping beneath the unbuttoned fabric and tracing the hem of her underwear. Did he even notice that he was doing it? Did he realize how turned on she was already? Lana couldn't imagine that he had a reliable reference point for knowing when a girl was aching for him, and she had no idea what was going on in his head. All she knew was that her panties were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"L," she moaned against him as his fingers stopped moving, "_touch me_." She practically purred into his ear, and his lips stuttered on the hollow of her throat.

Wordlessly, he did as she requested, and his hand slowly reached beneath her underwear—and then, he touched her for the first time. Lana squirmed in her skin as L cupped her, brushing her wet curls with unpracticed fingers. She nearly jumped when one of them grazed her entrance; he seemed to merely be exploring her, trying to learn the language of her body as though it were one of his more difficult cases. He traced her slowly, leaving her with an unbearable ache in her lower abdomen that she was becoming more restless to fulfill, but never rubbing against the place she wanted him most.

The dark-haired woman groaned into his mouth as she resumed kissing him, and desperately thrust her hips against L's hand. This was unfair; he was just teasing her! Well, _two_ could play at that game…

Lana hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down over his hips. He didn't respond to her touch, but she released a cry of surprise when she felt L's hands slide out of her pants. She almost hissed at the loss of contact, but was quickly cut off. In a flash, she had been lifted off of the man's lap, and soon after, in a hurried frenzy, their remaining garments were tossed to the floor as well.

The scarred woman sat back as she watched L lie down on the bed, his wide dark eyes riveted on her, and she was caught between laughter and annoyance as she settled herself over his hips once again. She blushed when she felt his member nudge against her opening, biting her lip between her teeth to stifle a strained groan. L was staring; his hands tightened on her bare hips as he glanced up at her, and there was no mistaking the lustful look in his eyes. For the life of her, she never thought she would see such an expression.

Without another word, Lana sank down on him.

The effect was instantaneous; it had been so long since the scarred woman had felt anything close to this that she could not subdue the moan that escaped her lips. Her eyes snapped shut, and she dropped to her elbows. Her face was inches from L's, and he was now staring at her in what looked to be wide-eyed disbelief mixed with fear and desire. Through the pulse of pleasure that wormed through her body, Lana allowed herself to smile lazily at the man's expression. He looked a deer caught in the headlights, and she could see the sweat that had begun to break out on his forehead.

The dark-haired woman placed a brief kiss on his lips, slowly lifted her hips, and engulfed his length once more with a pleased sigh. As she had expected, L didn't voice his desire as much as she did—but he was very watchful of her movements, and with every thrust he released an audible exhale.

After a few seconds, Lana found that she rather liked being on top; the air around her afforded the young woman more freedom, more mobility—and it allowed L to reach deep inside of her. The detective appeared to enjoy the view as it was, for he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her. His hands clutched desperately at her waist, caressing the visible skin wherever he could.

"Lana," he panted as she sank down on him, his face flushed.

"Hm?" she hummed back, tracing patterns on his bare chest as she rode him.

"May I try something?"

She paused in her movements. "S-sure. What—"

Before she could finish her question, the scarred woman felt herself being flipped over; the world turned sideways for a moment, and when it righted itself Lana found that she was now lying on her back. She nearly groaned when she felt L slip out of her, but a moment later almost fainted when he plunged back into her with full force. Her eyes rolled back into her head as L resumed the relatively slow pace, only now he was hovering above her. She moaned when he reached a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her, and she dug her head backwards into the pillow.

"_L_."

The detective froze at the extremely erotic call of his name, and pressed his face even closer to hers. "What was that?" he asked.

"You—" Lana was cut off by another keening whine; whatever he had just repeated with his hips sent shivers down her spine. "—asshole. Are you really a—hmm—a virgin?"

She placed her arms around his back and wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his thighs. He didn't respond to her question, but instead quickened his pace ever so slightly. She pulled him closer. Both of them were panting loudly now, intermittent gasps and moans (mostly hers) filling the room with the sound of their exhaustive efforts. Lana could feel her climax fast approaching; she knew it would only be a matter of time before she would reach that point of carnal bliss, and she sensed that L was nearing his own as well.

Lana crossed her ankles on the small of his back, drawing him closer to her as she strained to reach her peak with him.

L quietly called her name into her ear, and the noise pulled at the dark-haired woman's attention; he sounded uncertain, and more than a bit nervous.

Suddenly, just as she sensed the build-up within her about to break, she felt L stiffen above her, shaking in her arms like a wind-blown leaf. Lana almost cried out in distress when she felt him go limp against her. L panted into her ear, rolling off of her and to the side so as to avoid hurting her with his weight. As he tried to catch his breath, the scarred woman stayed stiff with her lack of relief. Her body was still burning with pent-up tension, and she very nearly screamed into the pillow.

_Shit. _

The detective appeared not to notice her predicament, at least for a few moments. As he regained control over his breathing, L glanced over at her, furrowing his brows at her rigidity and frustrated expression.

"Is something wrong?" Then, it seemed to dawn on him; a sheepish look overcame his face. "Oh…I apologize if you did not enjoy it. Are you not satisfied?"

"It's fine, L," the woman panted, her flushed expression giving her away. "I pretty much expected this. You don't have to—"

Lana gasped aloud as L shifted on top of her once again, his right hand immediately sliding down across her stomach. The scarred woman nearly groaned as he began using his fingers to pleasure her again, tracing her entrance with a torturously slow pace before moving back up to her clit.

"If I am correct," he said against her ear, his dark eyes boring into hers. "I should be able to bring you to orgasm this way."

"So romantic," she joked, her voice catching on the last syllable as an especially potent flick of his finger caused her toes to curl.

He paused for a moment at the whine that left her mouth. "Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh…I'm fine," she groaned. "Keep going." Lana sighed, rubbing herself against him.

He did as she asked, his finger forming small circles around the knob of flesh until she found it difficult just to stay still. She wrapped her arms around his back, digging her nails into the pale skin. L responded by lowering his head to her neck, sucking and biting at the skin with enough force to draw small moans from Lana's throat.

Slowly, his lips descended to her shoulder, bypassing her collarbone and stopping at her breasts. He kissed her there, most likely wary of hurting her as he didn't dare to go any lower. She didn't want him to stop, though, and she made it obvious when she arched into him. He glanced up at her, and she smiled drunkenly back, encouraging him to continue.

Without another word, he took the tip of her breast into his mouth, and Lana released a heavy sigh. As L continued to suck on her, she drew the tip of her toes across his bare leg and dug her nails even deeper into his back. She almost couldn't take it; with every motion of his finger she was driven deeper into senselessness. Waves of ecstasy radiated up her spine and boiled in the pit of her stomach, leaving her crying out and muffling the sound in L's shaggy hair.

And finally, the wave broke. Lana gasped for air as bliss rained down upon her, and the only thing she could do was voice it into the empty air. Her toes curled, her limbs shook, and her face contorted with her climax. Through it all, L watched her with a fascinated look in his eyes.

Eventually, her heart rate settled down, and she sank down into the cot, completely spent of her energy. Her eyes were closed, but the young woman felt when L laid down beside her, and she could feel his eyes on her flushed face as she pulled him closer.

"Thanks for that," she said cheekily.

"It was selfish of me, as well," he said. "I enjoyed seeing it. You have never looked like that before. It was…nice."

Lana laughed lightly at his choice of words. "Then I guess I did my job well, didn't I, L?"

As the pair lied there, basking in the afterglow of their blissful encounter, the dark-haired woman felt herself begin to slip into sleep. She pulled L closer to her, burying her face against the crook of his neck and chin.

But just before she slipped under, she heard him say one last thing into her ear.

"_Lawliet_," he told her, his voice so distant that Lana wondered if she had imagined it. "_Call me Lawliet_."

* * *

When she woke up a few hours later, Lana took the pill. Of course, she had to look for it first, since it had been haphazardly thrown off the bed with the rest of their clothes. But when she did find it, she considered it a hearty victory. She wasn't sure when it would kick in, but she did know that as of right now, she was hungrier than she'd ever been in her life.

The scarred woman got dressed with a dumb smile on her face, glancing back at L's sleeping form all the while. _I should bring him something to eat, too._

Just before she left, Lana placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, brushing some of the unruly dark hair out of his eyes. "I'll be right back." She paused at the door, turning back around with a snarky grin. "I can't believe I love a clueless idiot like you."

It was dark outside when she left the lab, and Lana could see that the lights in Soichiro's lab were turned off. So everyone was asleep, were they? That meant she probably wouldn't be able to get inside—not unless she wanted to stand on the porch and scream until someone heard her.

_Oh, well. _

Just as the dark-haired woman turned back around, she saw something looming in the corner of her vision. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she turned to face her would-be attacker, and the woman gaped wordlessly at the man standing before her.

Light Yagami looked much the same as compared to the last time she had seen him—only now, he looked ten times as pissed, and thirty times as psychotic. That was saying something, since the last time she had talked to him he had been threatening to kill Itzel unless she left Waterfront.

"Hello, Emerson," he said, his exterior calm and composed. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Lana scoffed, taking her fight stance as the man before her tensed up. "Has it really? Wow, time really flies when you aren't surrounded by cocky assholes, doesn't it?"

Light merely grinned at her snarky remark. "Was that supposed to make me mad? Emerson, you know as well as I do that some people have to take the brunt of the suffering so that others may live in peace. I only did what I had to do to survive; you wouldn't understand."

"Bullshit."

"Is it really? You, who always live your life according to a ridiculous set of strict principles, could never know what I'm talking about. You're a loner; you tried to reject people because you thought you were better on your own and would only cause them pain. And you were used because of it. You allowed yourself to be used. The only reason you didn't end up like Nix or Misa was because you had someone to help you."

"Shut your mouth," she hissed at him. "You're a selfish bastard, Light. What would you know about helping others? I cringe for Takada. Where is she, by the way? Did you finally get rid of her because she wasn't serving your needs anymore?"

Light scowled at the dark-haired woman. "Do you really think I would kill someone for such an inane reason? You should know me better than that." As Lana watched, she saw the golden-haired man's eyes drift to the side; it almost looked as though he was glancing behind her.

_What is he doing?_ "All I know about you is that you have no right to act all high and mighty. Not after what you did to all of us—not after you abandoned your family."

Light's eyes widened. "You—what are you talking about?"

"Your _family_. You know, father and sister? Ring a bell? Don't pretend you have no idea what I'm talking about."

The other man snarled, glaring at Lana so fiercely that she thought she would spontaneously combust. "Don't you dare speak of them. They only ever got in my way—they were _weak_, especially my blind, sensitive father. All he cared about was saving others—he didn't care about his family. He opted to stay here, when he could have left and smuggled us on the plane with him. But instead he _chose _to stay, and his wife died because of it. He's nothing but a pathetic, sorry excuse for a Surgeon General."

At that, the scarred woman couldn't help herself. She charged straight at Light, ignoring all rational thought. At the same time her fist collided with his face, she felt a searing pain in her jaw. Light had punched her as well; both of them let out huffs of pain, but Light managed to stay on his feet. Lana, for her part, stumbled from the sudden blow, and a moment later felt another blow to her face. She grunted, grabbing the man's wrist before he could pull away, and brought her other hand to the back of his neck.

With a cry of rage, Lana brought Light's face down, and at the same moment raised her knee. A spectacular _crack_ filled the air, and the golden-haired man flew backwards, blood spurting from his nose. He growled in pain from where he sat on the ground, but got back up before the woman could charge him again.

The two stood facing each other, with Light clearly in worse shape. His face was coated with blood, his nose clearly broken, and he glared at Lana with all the hatred he could muster. She glared right back, still in her fight stance—and then, she said something that she had wanted to say since the day she met him.

"Come and fight me, you narcissistic asshole."

For the first time, Light began to look unsure of himself. He continually glanced behind her, his eyes growing more impatient by the minute.

_What does he keep looking at?_ She was tempted to glance behind her, but then considered the fact that this was a trick—a ploy to get her to look away so he would have the upper hand. She wasn't going to fall for it.

"Takada!" he called out, and the dark-haired woman's blood ran cold. Suddenly, the man's odd behavior and nervous eyes made sense. He never wanted this to be a fair fight; he had set it up, and had the brunette waiting in the wings for him to call her.

But like hell Lana was going to allow herself to be tag-teamed.

"You bastard!" she growled as she dove for him again, knocking both of them to the ground. She should take him out now, before he managed to call for help a second time. Though he struggled against her, occasionally landing a blow on her face and chest, Lana refused to back off.

An elbow to the face caused her to let out a grunt of pain, but she fueled it into an even stronger blow to his already-broken nose. She managed to get on top of him, straddling his hips as the scarred woman rained hit after hit on his face and body. She didn't even see his hand diving towards his pocket until it was too late.

The switchblade glinted in the pale moonlight, but Lana managed to smack the weapon out of his hand just before Light could sink it into her good eye. It clattered to the ground behind them, distracting the woman for barely two seconds—but that was all Light needed to deliver an uppercut to her jaw. She bit down on her tongue hard, and the taste of blood filled her mouth as the golden-haired man crawled out from under her. He went towards the knife, which was lying only a few feet away.

_No!_

Light gasped as she tackled him once again, the blade just out of his reach. He bucked desperately to force her off, but he was on his stomach; she had the upper hand in this situation.

There was only one thing for her to do.

With Light's hand mere inches from the knife, she knew she had no choice. Lana wrapped her forearm around his throat. She yanked his head up, drawing a choked gasp from his throat.

"Takada!" he choked out. "Where are you?!"

Ignoring his cry for help, the woman placed her right hand on her left bicep, and her left hand on the back of his head. Slowly, she began to squeeze…

Light's struggling began to intensify after a few seconds, but then died down when the skin of his face started to turn blotchy and purple. He wouldn't be conscious for much longer.

"T-Takada…" he choked out, his fingers still desperately reaching for the knife…and before she could do anything to stop him, the tips of his fingers brushed against the blade.

Lana screamed, but didn't let go as Light sunk the blade into her forearm.

Instead, she did something far worse.

On reflex, the dark-haired woman's arms jerked—and she froze in horror at the loud _crack_ that followed.

Even before Light's body went limp beneath her, she knew what she had done.

Her hands shook as she got off of him, stumbling backwards and falling directly onto her ass. Lana stared in horror at the man's body, lying motionless as the blood from his face continued to leak onto the pavement.

Light was dead. He was dead, his neck broken like a doll's as he had tried in vain to kill her. But she had done him in before he got the chance. What would he have done if she hadn't tried to fight him? Kidnap her? Try to get her to tell him where L was? Probably. But would he have killed her? She just didn't know.

And it seemed that now, she never would.

She may not have liked him—in fact, she hated Light with a passion—but she hadn't wanted to _kill_ him. She had only ever killed the infected, those who were too far gone to contain any shred of civilized behavior. But Light…Light hadn't been sick. Misguided, yes; despicable, certainly—but he hadn't been sick.

And the only thing he was now was murdered.

"I…I killed him…"

"Hmm…yes, you did. I must say, I'm impressed."

The familiar voice came from behind her and crawled up her spine, filling Lana with cold dread that halted the shaking in her limbs.

_No…it can't be…_

At the exact moment she turned around, a hard blow struck her in the side of the head, and she was out cold instantly.

* * *

**I would just like to clarify right now that I am not sorry! You know that this story's not over yet—not while B's still around. I will apologize, however, to anyone who is upset that I took out Light. And if you're confused as to why that happened, all will be explained next chapter! **

**Thanks for reading, and what did you guys think of the lemon? I know there was a lot of build-up, so do you think I did a good job? Let me know!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	30. Does the Heart Speak?

**Author's Note: Chapter thirty already. I wonder how many chapters are left in this story…probably not that many. I'm definitely not going to write up to forty. I'm thinking this story will end somewhere around the thirty-four to thirty-five chapter mark. (Give or take the epilogue.) **

** To WildfireDreams: Lol, I noticed that before I posted it. Like, the chapter just went from this pretty lighthearted tone to being all dark and horrible. You'll find out what happened to Takada in this chapter; don't worry! (Or do. You should, actually.) I also don't like Light; he was way more likable in the beginning. He just kind of turned psychotic and at a certain point I lost faith in him. Actually, he's probably the only main character of a series that I don't like. Odd. **

** To garnet86: Aww, thanks! I was worried that you guys wouldn't like it. Yeah, I've read some L/OC fics where L is somehow completely amazing at sex. I mean, knowing the human body front and back (which he probably does, seeing as he's a genius) isn't the same as being a sex God, lol. There's nothing wrong with an experienced L, I just wanted to keep this lemon more realistic. Glad you liked the chapter!**

** To CainToYourAbel: That was a terrible pun, and I applaud you for it. I actually chuckled aloud to myself when I read that. XD As for the horrifying things that B is going to do (because you just know any idea of his will involve someone else getting screwed over), just you wait until the next few chapters…**

** To WhiteLadyDragon: Hooray! One thing I always notice about sex scenes in general (on this site in particular) is that the woman always climaxes. I'm guilty of doing the same thing in my other stories, but for this one I wanted to keep it more real. I'm really happy that it paid off! I refuse to answer any of your other questions, seeing as how doing that would give away the rest of the plot. Sorry :) I hope this chapter satisfies you—for now, anyway.**

** To version15: Lana killing Light was one of the scenes I had planned (more or less) from almost the beginning. I thought it would bring some good irony to the table. **

** And yeah, haha, it took me a while to sit down and figure out how to make the lemon scene not too OOC. It was…a challenge. O_O**

** To RaspberryDiamonds: I know! B is just a deviously cunning bastard, isn't he?**

** Warnings: Profanity, Violence/Torture. (Not as bad as it's going to get, though.)**

* * *

**Chapter 30: Does the Heart Speak?**

For the first time in his life, L woke up feeling…happy. At first he could not find a word for it, for he had never felt this calm, pleasing emotion to such a physical degree, but after a few seconds he concluded that happiness was more or less a fair description of it.

This was not to say that he had been miserable for his entire life, but up until now the detective seemed to have had a perpetual hollow sensation in his chest, one that he assumed had always been there and would forever remain. As long as he continued to do his job and catch criminals, he was able to forget about the apparent lack of…something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't bother wondering too much about it.

But for some reason, when consciousness returned to him this morning, the hollowness had been replaced by something else, a warm feeling that radiated beneath his sternum and spread throughout his limbs into a pleasant tingling sensation.

What had Lana told him last night? _Love._ That was what she had referred to her feelings for him as. He still didn't quite understand the emotion as everyone else seemed to, but her description of it struck him as familiar to his own internal dilemma. Was he currently satisfied because he reciprocated her feelings? To be certain, he had never felt anything remotely similar to what he had experienced with the dark-haired woman last night.

With no small amount of surprise, L recalled that he had sex for the first time last night. He still couldn't quite comprehend it, but he could describe it well enough. It had been far more pleasurable—no, euphoric did the sensation justice—than he had imagined based upon popular consensus. Lana had ensnared him in a way the detective had never believed possible, and for a few seconds his mind had seemed to be wiped clean of all rational thought. It was only after his metaphorical high had worn off that he had been able to focus on Lana once again—and he had wondered in fascination at the expressions she made and the contortions of her body.

He had never seen anyone look that way before because of him—and he found that seeing the dark-haired woman in that state had been nearly as enjoyable as being bound to her in the first place. Having never been intimate with anyone before, nor having explored his own body, the odd man found it difficult to put his emotions into words. He only knew that he would very much like to repeat the experience again with her, especially considering that the detective hadn't slept so soundly in his whole life as he had last night.

With his eyes still closed, L reached his hand out to the opposite side of the cot, searching for Lana's presence beside him. Strangely enough, however, he did not find her—and the sheets on her side were rumpled and cold, as though the young woman had been gone for some time.

At the same time L opened his eyes, he heard a sound that immediately set him on edge.

The horrible caterwaul of a young girl reached his ears, causing the detective to shoot straight up in bed. Instinct took over as the man pulled his clothes on, and he noted with suspicion that Lana's garments were already gone.

The screaming had stopped by the time L went outside, but what he saw there was no less disturbing than the girl's pained cries. The first thing he saw was Sayu, huddled on the ground against the wall of Laboratory Seven. An expression of pure terror painted her features, and she held her knees to her chest protectively as though trying to shield herself from what was lying on the ground before her.

L could not blame the girl; the dead man was certainly not a welcoming sight. He was lying facedown in a pool of his own blood, the tips of his bronze hair tainted scarlet by the drying fluid. It seemed to be concentrated around his face, as though he had been badly hurt and knocked unconscious before perishing. That, or he had been dead before he hit the ground. A bloody knife was lying beside him, poised a few inches from his unclenched fist. A thin trail of blood led away from the body, stopping only a few feet away.

Without a doubt, the detective already knew that this man had been murdered...but if so, why wouldn't the perpetrator have taken the knife with them? They must have either been in a hurry, or couldn't be bothered. No…there was something strange about this situation. He would have to examine the man's face before making any judgments. The detective peered closer at the stranger's outline, noting that the shape of his body and even his hair looked familiar…

And then, with a jolt of surprise, L realized that he knew who this man was—it was Light Yagami. He could not help the shiver that ran through him at the thought that he had been killed so close to them, but he soon realized that there were other priorities that had to be dealt with. First of all, Light was Sayu's brother—no doubt she would be traumatized after seeing this.

"Sayu," he said firmly, but the young brunette did not respond. She appeared not to hear him at all, her moist eyes remaining fixated on Light's body. She seemed to be stuck in the midst of her horrifying realization. Despite not particularly liking Light when he was alive, L did feel a shred of sympathy for Sayu; after all, it was not her fault that her brother made the choices he did. Familial love, from what the detective knew of it, was often unconditional.

Apparently, L hadn't been the only one who was awoken by Sayu's screaming. He heard the door behind him burst open, and a feminine gasp reached his ears.

"Holy shit…" Itzel breathed, coming to stand right beside the detective's shoulder. "…Yagami."

Heavier footsteps issued from behind him, and L heard Mogi curse lightly under his breath. It took a bit longer for the others to join them outside, but a few seconds later both Matsuda and Soichiro arrived.

"Soichiro," L called out, thinking quickly, "get Sayu away from here."

"What are you—" The scientist stopped speaking midsentence when he caught sight of his daughter and the dead man she was fixated on. As soon as he saw the back of his son's profile, Soichiro stiffened, his eyes glossed over with disbelief as he stared at the corpse of the son he had already believed to be dead.

It must have been awful, L thought—it was a cruel twist of fate to bring a loved one back into someone's life just in time for them to be ripped away all over again. He could not relate, but he could see the agony etched into the faces of both father and daughter.

Soichiro's hands clenched at his sides, and L could see the tears forming beneath the frames of his glasses. "Sayu," he whispered to the young girl, who was still catatonic with the shock of seeing her dead brother. "Get away from him."

She didn't reply, but at the sound of her father's voice tears began to flow in earnest down her pale cheeks. The droplets fell into her lap when she didn't wipe them off; indeed, she seemed completely unaware that she was even crying. Her lip quivered with the words she could not speak, and her whole body followed suit.

"Sayu…" her father said brokenly as he stumbled towards her, reaching down and pulling her into his chest. She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and Soichiro did his best to shield her eyes from the view of Light's body as he backed away.

"It's okay, Sayu. Don't look at him. Matsuda," he said shakily, his voice full of tears as he turned to face the younger man. "Can you please take her back inside?"

Matsuda nodded, looking more than shaken in his own right as he guided a silently sobbing Sayu back into the lab.

Soichiro refused to look at Light when he turned back around, addressing L instead. "What happened?" he whispered.

L shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know, sir. I came outside when I heard Sayu cry out. She was the only one here. Though, judging from the dried blood, I would say that his body has been here for a few hours already."

Soichiro clenched his eyes shut, cursing under his breath as a single tear ran down his face. "We will have to move his body...find somewhere to bury him."

"Would you like some help with that?" Mogi offered, shyly stepping forward.

Soichiro grinned sadly at the large man, wiping his eyes. "If you would be so kind as to help me carry him, but I...I would prefer to do the burial myself. Not with Sayu there, though...she's already suffered enough."

No one said anything else for a moment; Itzel was the one to finally break the silence.

"Hey…" she started, her voice possessing an odd lilt. "…has anyone seen girly?"

A cold sensation not dissimilar to being thrown into a freezing shower washed over L at the mention of Lana's absence. "She…she was not in her bed when I woke up a few minutes ago," he told the Hispanic woman. "Have none of you seen her?"

Itzel shook her head. "Not since yesterday. She wasn't in Matt's room either. I checked on him before I came out here. Eh, Soichiro, have you seen her?"

The older man appeared perplexed by the question, and was still clearly overwhelmed by the present situation, but he shook his head regardless. "I saw her leave Laboratory Seven last night," he told them. "She never came back inside. I assumed she was with you."

"She was," L observed, a bad feeling plaguing him. This was not a positive sign; the detective had a keen instinct when it came to solving difficult cases, so he knew without a doubt that something was amiss. "But now she is gone."

Yes, there was definitely something odd going on here. Lana would not have simply gone off on her own without telling someone, especially considering what had happened between them last night. Not to mention there was still the matter of what—or who—had killed Light. However, L had a fairly good idea of who was responsible. As he had said before, he had a fair instinct when it came to difficult cases—but in this instance, the detective saw what had happened as more or less open and shut. Both the woman's disappearance and Light's untimely death could be perfectly explained away by the actions of a single person.

_B._

At the thought, L's blood ran cold, and an emotion he knew all too well took root in his mind—not because he often experienced it, but because he saw it every day in the faces of countless people.

Fear.

* * *

_Where the hell am I? _

She would have asked the question out loud, but at present Lana couldn't seem to gain control over all of her cognitive faculties. The only thought she could intrinsically verbalize was that single question, and even that was slowly leaking out of her grasp.

The scarred woman clumsily opened her eyes, blinking furiously to dispel the crust that caked her eyelids, and was almost instantaneously disoriented by her surroundings—or lack thereof. In front of her—no, above her—was a blank ceiling from which hung only a broken light bulb. It appeared that the only light in the room was coming from her right, but she could not bring herself to turn her head and see where she was. Surely, if she did, she would roll off of the hard surface (a table?) she was splayed on—that, or she would simply vomit onto the floor. Lana had never felt so dizzy, even when she was drunk. She had always blacked out before losing so much control over her body. Perhaps that blow to the head had done more damage than she thought…

Then, clarity slapped her upside the head, and the memory of her last waking moment rushed back to the forefront of her mind. Terror clawed through her veins when the dark-haired woman recalled the last thing she saw: B's twisted face as he watched her stare in wide-eyed horror at Light Yagami's corpse.

But no…it couldn't be. How did this happen? How did B manage to sneak up on her without her noticing? Of course, it all made sense; this was all part of the serial killer's plan. He had used Light as a distraction for her, so that he could corner her without her even putting up a fight. How he had managed to convince Light to go along with his twisted game remained a mystery to the young woman, however. The important thing was that he had accomplished his goal; he had kidnapped her.

But why? So he could get her to lead L straight to him? Like hell she would ever let that happen, and L wasn't stupid enough to try and rescue her without thinking it through. She might as well try to escape on her own.

With strength she didn't know she possessed, Lana tried to push herself up. She only got about one inch off the table she was lying on before she realized her hands were tied down. A feeble attempt at twisting her hands out of the restraints proved to be less than worthwhile; her fingers were all but numb, and she could barely get them to form a proper fist.

Pained with the feelings of nausea that accompanied her movement, the scarred woman soon accepted that she wasn't going anywhere for the moment.

"Ah. So you're awake, are you?" B's voice, though garbled and sounding as though it was carried to her ears through a layer of sand, was still eerily calm enough to send chills down Lana's spine. "That's interesting…I didn't expect you to come to for at least another two hours. You're stronger than I thought."

_Bastard._ "Go to…" Lana tried to finish her sentence, but could not get the words out. It felt almost as though there was something heavy sitting on her throat, constricting her windpipe as she tried to speak.

"Go to hell?" B finished for her. "Is that what you were going to say?" The outline of his silhouette poked at the corners of Lana's vision, and she could faintly make out the blurred features of his jawline. "Aren't you afraid of me? I can't imagine that you aren't."

The dark-haired woman didn't respond to his question, nor did she try. However, B seemed to interpret her silence as an answer. "Of course you're afraid. Anyone in your situation would be. Just because I've drugged you doesn't mean you can't feel fear…in fact, I would imagine that your anxiety has only been intensified because of it. Not being able to move, to speak…it's terrifying, isn't it? Fear is the most surreal of human emotions, after all. Do you feel like you're in a dream—Lana, wasn't it?"

She could hardly get the words to leave her lips, and the scarred woman wasn't even sure that she wanted them to. However, she managed to say one word as B finished his speech.

"…Drug?"

"Yes. It's just something I made using the chemicals at an abandoned hospital, a liquid variation of the same chemical used for anesthesia. Hence why I thought it would last longer—it must have lost some of its potency, or perhaps I should have used more for you. Either way, it doesn't matter now." B leaned over her, his pale face obscuring her vision.

Lana felt the tips of his hair tickle her face, and she wrinkled her nose and closed her eyes so as to shut out the serial killer's twisted form.

"Not looking at me? Does that make you feel as though you aren't actually here? Well, I can still see you. In fact, I've been seeing you for a long time. From the very beginning, I had my eye on you and L. I wonder what he will think of you when he discovers that it was you who killed Light Yagami. Will he forgive you? Or will you become another murderer in his eyes?"

Panic seized her as she was cruelly reminded of Light. Had the others found his body yet? They must have—though Lana had no idea how long she had been gone, she guessed that it must at least be the next day. Judging from the lethargic feeling in her limbs, and if the light that reached her was coming from outside, then it must have been at least a few hours.

What would the others think of her when they saw what she did? Would they even believe it was her who had killed him? Then, with a sinking feeling, Lana realized that the answer was yes. When B confronted L, as the scarred woman was certain he would, the serial killer would be sure to let him know that she had been the one to take Light's life—if L didn't figure it out first, that is. She couldn't explain why, but she knew that B would never let her live this down.

And now…Lana didn't think she would ever be able to face Soichiro or Sayu again.

"We're not really so different, you and I," B continued, his fingers tracing circles on the bare skin of Lana's arm. "We were both victims of circumstance. I was trapped in that orphanage, expected to succeed the great detective known as L when his first successor committed suicide. You, on the other hand, merely lived here and got caught up in all the chaos when the virus broke out. So, you see, neither of us ever really had a choice in our lot in life—at least, not on the surface." The man leaned in closer, his lips just brushing against her ear; Lana shivered as his breath hit her cheek. "And both of us were used by L, manipulated into doing his bidding for the good of humanity. Do you see it?"

She didn't see it. She didn't want to. Whatever he was talking about, Lana wanted no part in it.

B backed away from her again, sauntering around the table and over to the left half of the room. "But enough small talk—though I do thoroughly enjoy having you here. The two of us are being extremely rude. After all, we have a guest here with us."

The man's voice was farther away now, and Lana could hear the sounds of distant shuffling. The dark-haired woman's ears perked up when she heard the terrified groan of another woman, and against the bitter protest of her stomach, she turned her head to the left.

Shock and confusion entered the woman's mind when she saw what B was talking about. He was standing against the wall, a smug smile on his face as he stared across the room at Lana—and at his feet, bound and gagged with absolute terror permeating her eyes, was Takada.

* * *

"What do you mean she's gone?"

Matt clutched his stitches as he abruptly sat up, giving a miniscule flinch as he did so.

"Calm down, idiot! Yer gonna open those damn stitches again!" Itzel chastised the brunette, but he seemed to ignore her entirely.

Well, L had not expected a calm reaction from Matt, so he couldn't say he was surprised by his energy. "It is just as you said," the detective told him. "She is missing from her room; and this morning, when Sayu went outside, she happened upon the body of her dead brother. It would be foolish to say that the two events are unrelated."

Matt was visibly upset by this news; he looked as though he were struggling to find his words. "Jesus…that's heavy. So what…what the hell happened? Do you think this guy tried to attack her and she ran away? I have no idea why she'd do that, but maybe she's hurt somewhere…"

The detective shook his head, though the conjured image of Lana lying injured and bleeding in a ditch somewhere was enough to cause his stomach to turn. "I do not think so. Hurt, perhaps, but not in the way you think. There were clear signs of a struggle, but if she had been badly injured there would be a larger trail of blood leading away from the body. The trail we saw only went a few feet before stopping, suggesting that the person's wound was stemmed. Besides, if she were hurt, Lana would not have left voluntarily. She would have knocked on the doors or yelled for us."

"Voluntarily?" Matt whispered. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that someone else—a third party—was involved in this situation."

"I think yer right," Itzel said, interrupting Matt. "Girly wouldn't leave us like that. Someone else musta taken her."

"Someone else…" Matt mused, his green eyes suddenly lighting up with panic. "No." He glanced at L. "_No_."

The detective refused to make eye contact, perhaps fearful that the brunette would be able to see that he shared the sentiment.

"What are ya—" Itzel must have realized then what their train of thought was, for her jaw snapped shut; she too stared at L with a lost expression. "Oh, shit."

"I assume that you two have come to the same conclusion as I," the detective observed, the hands in his pockets shaking despite his attempts to stop them. "I believe that B was the one who took her—he was more than likely the instigator of this whole situation."

"So now what?" Matt asked, his chest heaving with unrest. "That psycho's going to kill her! We have to do something."

Though it physically pained him to do so, L shook his head. "No. If B merely wanted to kill her, we would have found her body beside Light's. No…I believe he wants me to come after him. He expects me to want to save her. It only makes sense; I cannot think of another reason as to why he would bother targeting her."

"But…you _are_ going to go after her, right? I mean, I know it's a trap, but we can find a way around it. We can't just _leave_ her there with him, can we?"

When the detective said nothing, Matt grew even more agitated.

"_Right_? You aren't going to abandon her! She loves you!"

"Calm down, Skinny," Itzel interjected. "Look at the guy's face."

L wasn't sure what the woman was seeing, but it could certainly be no worse than what he was feeling. Upon hearing Matt's words his heart became inflamed with pain, to the point that it created a hard lump in his throat. It was exceedingly painful, and the detective had to keep swallowing in order to wet his throat.

Yes, he knew that she loved him. She had told him only hours ago; and now, here he was, debating whether or not she was worth the trouble to go after. Of course, he knew what he would end up doing—but it was the conflict he felt from his choice that was all but tearing his mind asunder. To find B for the express purpose of saving Lana was not the rational choice; it may very well end up getting him killed.

But the rational choice, the thought of going there and using the scarred woman as a tool to capture B, regardless of whether or not she died…that was the thought that was hurting him.

"What are ya thinkin', L?"

He cocked his head, clenching his fists within his pockets. "I am uncertain," he told her, gnawing on his lip. "Excuse me…I must go and check on something."

Despite Matt's noisy protests, the detective hurriedly swept out of the room. He tried to breathe deeply, to calm the ever-increasing beat of his heart as he returned to his own room. When he walked inside, the four walls around him inexplicably felt smaller than they had before, as though they were steadily enclosing him on all sides. It was an eerie illusion, he knew, but L felt it as acutely as he could feel the cold sweat on his brows and the chill tickling the back of his neck.

He hated this feeling. With more strength than he had ever used to wish for anything, L wished for the pain to go away. What was this? Panic? It was certainly not love; it could not be possible for an emotion that had been so euphoric to be so horrid.

Could it?

Either way, the detective had never experienced panic before, at least not so strongly. Even in situations where his life was in danger, L had managed to keep most of his emotions under control and carefully concealed from the prying eyes of Watari. But now, it seemed as though it would be an ethereal dream for him to merely keep a calm head.

Without giving it much thought, L grabbed the communicator from his ear and turned it on. It took a few seconds of static for the old man to pick up, but to L it felt like a whole minute.

"_Ryuuzaki_," Watari greeted him when he finally answered. "_How are things going on your end_?"

The detective struggled to find the proper euphemism, but quickly gave up the fight. "…Things are…not going particularly well, Watari. It seems that B has gotten the better of me this time."

"_How so_?" Watari asked. "_Are you okay? What did he do_?"

L responded with silence, his attention captured by a neon green object he saw poking out from beneath the cot. It was, he realized after a moment, one of Lana's socks.

_She must have forgotten to put it on in her haste—or perhaps she was merely tired. Has she noticed yet, wherever she is?_

"_Ryuuzaki! Did you hear me?"_

The detective flinched at the unpleasantly loud volume of Watari's voice. He shook his head, internally berating himself for his temporary lapse in sane judgment. "Yes, I did. I apologize for becoming distracted. It appears that B has managed to catch me off guard. I fell asleep last night, and while I was unconscious B somehow took Emerson hostage. When I woke up this morning she was gone, and I have convincing evidence that suggests he is the one responsible."

"_My God_…" Watari sighed. "_What does he want from her_?"

"What you would expect—me. B must be trying to incite me to come after him on his own terms. Now, if I go after him, he will see me coming a mile away. He knows that I—" _That I have feelings for her._ L stopped himself before he could say it, unsure of how Watari would react.

"_B knows what_?"

"…He knows that I will try to retrieve her. And it pains me to admit it, but he is correct. I must figure out where she is, and free her unharmed."

"_So you're going to do what he wants? Do you think that is wise_?"

"I cannot be sure. For all I know, he may be expecting me to try to find a way around it. Doing exactly what he expects may be my best chance—and I will not be alone. There are people here who will help me."

"_I can't say the same, Ryuuzaki. I don't know what kind of people you've met. I only hope that they are as trustworthy as you claim…and I pray that you know what you're doing. Ultimately, I don't even believe that rescuing that woman is the sort of rational choice you would normally make, especially so soon after the fact. Are you sure this is a good idea_?"

"…No. But I have no time to spare, and I refuse to sit back and do nothing while B continues to torment those around me. Emerson has been nothing but helpful." L paused, pondering what Watari had told him so long ago. "Perhaps you were right after all, Watari. I have changed quite a lot."

"_Well…I can only hope that this is a positive change_."

L wasn't completely certain, but he thought he could hear a subtle grin in the old man's voice.

* * *

Lana focused all her energy on not vomiting as the world tilted around her. About half an hour ago, B gave her another dose of the anesthetic—a minor one, as he put it; it would make her more weak and drowsy, but would allow her to remain conscious. Though the thought of being passed out in the presence of the serial killer terrified her—she would be completely helpless, not that she didn't feel that way already—the fact that he wanted to keep her awake but make it so that she was unable to lift a finger was unnerving.

_What's he going to do to me? To Takada?_

The woman on the other side of the room was quietly sniffling, and Lana felt a twinge of sympathy for her. They were both pretty screwed right now.

As her vision tilted upwards, the walls and ceiling blended into one huge blur. Lana could sense the pressure on her wrists loosen for a moment. Even if she had wanted to—and she did, more than anything—she couldn't have broken the man's iron grip.

She was lifted off of the table and set down in a regular chair that B had brought from God knows where. She watched the man in front of her, her vision drifting in and out of focus as he retied her wrists to the arms of the chair. Her eyelids kept drooping, sliding closed even as she tried to fight against the tides of sleep that tugged at her.

"Don't fall asleep now, Lana," B told her in a lighthearted voice, his tenor thick and heavy through the fog that clouded her mind. A sharp _snap_ of his fingers caused her eyes to jolt open, bringing some of her clarity back for a moment. She tugged viciously against the ropes that bound her.

"Fuck you," she mumbled, glaring at his fingers. Both the appendages and B's face doubled, the copies circling around each other in a scene that made her feel drunk.

"I wouldn't speak to me that way if I were you," he told her, his voice echoing in the cavern of her mind. "You might not get lucky next time. I could just kill you right now—but I think we both know that would be a waste of time. Having you here serves two purposes, after all. I get to satisfy my curiosity and do another experiment, and L will surely come after you. See? I'm killing two birds with one stone—literally."

_He's…insane. He's a complete psychopath._ "What…experiment?" Lana heard herself ask, already dreading whatever answer he would give her.

"Do you remember, Lana, when I told you that you were just like me?"

"Not."

"Of course you would say that. Both you and L think that you're better than me—but that's far from the point. Do you see Takada over there?"

When the dark-haired woman pointedly refused to look over at the brunette, B took her jaw in his hand, forcing her to turn her head. The scarred woman snapped her eyes shut against the image of the other woman, who was bound and gagged as tears spilled relentlessly from her eyes.

_I always hated her_, Lana thought with a sense of ironic guilt. _But she doesn't deserve this. Even Light got off easier than she did…she shouldn't be here._ Another wave of guilt washed through her when she recalled that the woman knew she had killed Light.

"You don't want to look at her? Well, that's fine. You'll have no choice but to look at her eventually. A human's sense of morbid curiosity will not allow you to avoid it. And even if by some incredible feat you do not look, you will still hear."

B turned the chair around, forcing the scarred woman to face Takada. She struggled, but all to no avail; the ropes around her wrists held her tight. And then, she released a strangled choking sound when another rope wound itself around her neck. Lana gasped as B wrapped the rope around several times, forcing her head to stay upright. The scratchy material irritated her throat as B tied it to the back of the chair, pulling it taut so that the dark-haired woman could not even turn her head side to side. She could breathe well enough, however; B was not trying to choke her, she realized, her panic subsiding somewhat.

Then, with morbid horror, Lana realized that he was only making it so that she could not turn away from whatever he was going to do. She could close her eyes, but she would still be left exposed, unable to do anything to stop what she saw and heard.

Once B was satisfied with how she was bound, he strode over to Takada with a calm demeanor. He was clutching something in his palm, something long and shiny with a red handle that looked overwhelmingly like blood. As Takada struggled harder against the wall, Lana recognized what the object was: a pair of long scissors—but not the small kind that kindergartners used; they were the large, industrial-grade kind, the one with jagged tips and long blades that spelled injury if used incorrectly.

Lana was frozen in horror as she saw B kneel behind Takada, grabbing her around the throat when she tried to fling herself away.

"No escaping," he told her, holding her close. His left arm wrapped around her body, the empty hand grabbing one of hers and prying the palm open so that her fingers were on display.

B glanced up at Lana then, a relaxed smile on his face. "Now then—it's your decision, Lana. Which part of her should I cut?"

Takada wailed in distress beneath the gag in her mouth, and Lana felt like doing the same. She merely gaped at the serial killer, overtly horrified by what she was being asked to do. Was he serious? Did he really expect her to be able to decide something so awful? Just seeing Takada like this was causing her enough internal conflict; her heart was beating fit to burst, and she was rendered almost incapable of responding to B's question.

This must have been a nightmare. No one was this twisted, this demented…why was he so intent on corrupting her? Surely, no one could be so savage…but B was. He wanted her to be a part of his game, to feel as though she were an accomplice. It was in the way he looked at her, as though she was not an enemy but someone he wanted to get to know better, someone whose opinion he was genuinely interested in.

Well, she wasn't going to play along—no matter what.

"I…" she said. "Let her go. Please."

B _tsked_ at her, his expression unsurprised. "I figured you would say something like that. Unfortunately for Miss Takada, that was the wrong answer."

Before the scarred woman could say another word, B severed Takada's pointer finger—and as the brunette released a bloodcurdling cry of agony, Lana heard herself screaming along with her.

* * *

**Here we go! The next update is going to be one of my favorite chapters! I just love writing torture and psychological distress. That probably says a lot about me, but I swear I don't actually do this stuff to people. That would be weird. **

**Well, I hope no one's opinion of me has changed. I hope you liked the chapter, and remember to review! :)**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	31. A Hush Falls Over the Room

**Author's Note: Hey guys! This chapter was hard to write. I enjoyed it, though. I enjoy writing anything with a lot of angst. Hope you like it!**

** To WildfireDreams: Yeah, I agree. If I were L or Lana I would definitely want him dead. **

** To garnet86: Glad you like it! I didn't want to make this story too happy or funny, since I wanted to keep some of the original darkness of the story. I mean, it's an AU, so it will be very different, but I like the darkness of the original. L's POV, as always, was a challenge to write, as was the torture scene. More of that in this chapter! And you're welcome :)**

** To Manic x: That's been my experience as well. However, there are some really good torture scenes in movies and TV shows. I just can't think of any off the top of my head—sorry! Glad you liked this one :) (And I'm happy you like Lana!) **

** To RaspberryDiamonds: It was? That means I did something right, I guess. Thank you! **

** Warnings: Extreme Violence/Torture, Blood/Gore, Mature Content, Profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 31: A Hush Falls Over the Room**

A hush had fallen over the room, asserting itself over the two lost souls who inhabited it. No words were spoken between father and daughter, and neither saw a need to. They already knew what the other was thinking about—their emotions were perfectly conveyed by the utter silence in the air and the sorrow that permeated their eyes.

Though he could not tell how Sayu's mental faculties were faring after seeing her dead brother, Soichiro himself felt particularly numb. He had finally seen his son after seven years…the son that he had believed to be dead this entire time. All along, he had been alive—and this only intensified the pain he felt from the fact that Light was now truly gone. If only he had gotten here sooner, or perhaps even a bit later. Maybe then there would have been a shred of a chance for Light to have been spared a gruesome end.

Soichiro knew that this, from now until the end of forever, would be one of his greatest regrets, despite the fact that he knew life was too short for such baggage. The older man could not help but to mourn his only son's tragic end—his son, who was now buried in a shallow grave behind the laboratory. This, above all else, was his deepest grievance: that Light would not get a proper funeral or even a burial attended by those who had known him. Nearly all of those people were dead as well: extended family, friends—aside from Mogi, Matsuda, and Aizawa—were already gone. Who else would he have to lose as a result of his choices? His wife and son had perished, even after he had promised her posthumously that he would protect their children with his life. Soichiro himself shouldered the blame for his failure. If he were to somehow lose Sayu as well…

No. He refused to think of such things. He had to try to remember his purpose: continuing to conduct his research in the hopes of one day bettering society and bringing the world a cure that would end this nightmare. One thing stuck out in his mind—what Ryuuzaki had told him only a few minutes after he had buried Light: that he knew the identity of the man who had murdered his son. The same person, according to the odd young man, had also been the one who had taken Lana hostage—which meant that she might still be alive. It was imperative to Soichiro that they get the dark-haired woman back as soon as possible—not only for the purposes of his research (he still had a few samples of her blood left in his lab), but for strictly humanitarian reasons.

After all, Soichiro had come to appreciate the young woman's company. Although he had known her for only a brief time, the older man could see that Sayu seemed to take a genuine liking to Lana, and Soichiro himself valued the earnest nature of her sarcastic wit and devotion to her friends. It would not be right—in fact, it would be horrifying—if she were to die all because of a deranged man's actions. If he could do anything at all to help her, he gladly would—and he would sleep better knowing that he had prevented this man called B from harming anyone else. However, Ryuuzaki had assured Soichiro that he would take care of it—with the assistance of the others, of course.

_Continue the research with your daughter_, _Soichiro_, Ryuuzaki had told him. _It may very well hold the key to the survival of the world. In the meantime, the others and I will come up with a plan to get Lana back. _

"Hey…you guys mind if I come in?"

Both father and daughter glanced up at the doorway to see Itzel, who was staring at them with a sheepish expression. Soichiro smiled grimly at her, but nodded in assent. "You may, Itzel. There's no need to be so formal."

The atmosphere became awkward nonetheless when the large woman entered the room, but that was also due in part to the pair's inability to wipe the looks of mourning off of their faces. Right now, neither of them were very fit for conversation, but Soichiro felt that it would be rude to exclude Itzel for that reason. Throughout the short time he had known her, he found the woman to be tellingly kind, if a bit brash.

At any rate, Itzel looked as though she had something she wanted to say. Her dark eyes kept flicking from side to side, and her hands were deeply buried in her pockets. She seemed nervous, and Soichiro couldn't find it within himself to blame her. Just as all people tended to do when confronted with a person whom they know has lost a loved one, she was most likely just trying to discern the best way to phrase her condolences.

"Hey…so…about Light. Ya guys probably didn't know this, but I knew him before I came here."

At that, Soichiro's ears perked up—as did Sayu's, apparently.

"You did?" the young girl asked, her voice heartbreakingly sad. "My big brother?"

"Yeah," Itzel said somberly. "He was…he was…a good guy. I'm sorry that ya lost him. It's tough."

With a warm heart, Soichiro smiled up at her. Though his life could not look bleaker at the moment, the older man was immensely grateful for her sensitivity—even if, as he suspected from the woman's hesitation, she was not being entirely truthful. "Thank you, Itzel. You have no idea how much that means to Sayu and I. Being on your own for seven years, having to struggle just to stay alive…it can do a lot to change a person. It relieves me to know that my son at least died the way he lived."

Though Itzel smiled back at him, the grin looked noticeably forced. He did not think much of it, however—he was already musing on something else.

Soichiro knew that if his son were still alive, he would not want this case to be over. If Light were still here, watching over him, Soichiro was absolutely certain that he would want his murderer to be caught and punished. He would not want anyone else to suffer at the deranged man's hands. Light had been a police officer, after all; saving the innocent was his duty. As his father, Soichiro wanted to ensure that his son's wishes would be carried out and respected, even if—for whatever reason—Light had not seen or heard from him and Sayu for seven years.

And to do so, Soichiro would do whatever he could to help find B—even if, according to L, that constituted continuing his research on Lana's blood and its apparent ability to counteract the effects of P.H.D.

The older man stood up from his seat, determination breaking through the sadness that permeated his eyes.

"Soichiro?"

"Dad?"

"I'm fine," he assured the two women. "I've just decided to go back to my lab. This fight isn't over yet, Sayu. We still have work to do."

* * *

"I take it that everyone here is already aware of what has happened."

L observed the room's occupants as they all nodded, glancing at the veritable sea of faces that were scattered all over the laboratory lobby. This included Mogi, Matt, Matsuda, and Misa, who were all sitting on the couch, while Near—who had stubbornly refused to leave the room—sat in his usual posture on the old carpet. The white-haired boy was the only one in the room who did not nod in confirmation; rather, he merely twirled a lock of hair around his finger in silent contemplation.

At that moment, Itzel came back into the room. She leaned one hand against the back of the sofa, and nodded to the detective in greeting.

"Soichiro and Sayu just went back to work in the lab," she told him. "Thought you'd wanna know."

"Excellent," L said. "It is better that they are not involved."

"They went back to work already?" Misa gasped, tears swimming in her eyes. "So soon after Light was found? I should go comfort them—"

"Please refrain from doing so," L said calmly, and the blonde girl halted in her tracks just as she started to get up from her seat. "Do not forget that I called all of you here for a reason, Miss Amane."

"I didn't forget. You called us here so we could help get the guy who killed Light, right?" Misa asked, wiping the stray tears from her eyes. "And the same guy who took Emmy, too. I remember."

L nodded. "Then please, do as I ask and do not go running off again," the detective said. "You all have an important role to play in making sure that we get Lana back safe."

"So you have a plan?" Matt inquired, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Let's hear it, then. How are we going to find her?"

"We do not need to find her," L told the brunette, silently cursing his apparent helplessness. "We have no reliable way of doing so ourselves." Honestly, he had never felt so disempowered before. In all of his prior cases, he could easily request a team of investigators to use at his disposal if need be. Now, he had no advanced technology to utilize, aside from Watari's communicator—which unfortunately did not serve as a tracking device for anyone but him. L knew that he had only one thing that he could rely on for finding the dark-haired woman. "B himself will lead us to her. He wants me to find him. All I have to do is look for the signs—and I believe that I know what the first one is. It may appear to be a stretch to some of you, but after investigating the area where Light's body was left I realized something significant.

"I had thought already that the way the knife was positioned was odd, and now I understand why. Nothing about the scene is coincidental—it is against B's very nature. If we treat the layout of the crime scene as a potential clue to his whereabouts, then it becomes very clear what the knife represents."

There was a collective pause, and then the answer came from the mouth of the person whom L had least expected.

"It's a compass," Near said, his eyes glued to the carpet. "Not literally, but that is what the knife is supposed to imitate."

"A compass?" Matsuda repeated, his brows furrowed. Realization seemed to flow over him a moment later. "That actually makes a lot of sense, if this guy really does want to be found."

L nodded, impressed by the boy's perceptive nature. "Yes. It should be clear to anyone with basic criminology and pathology training that the trajectory of the knife was not haphazard. It was placed beside Light's hand in order to illustrate this fact—physics would dictate that if the knife were dropped, even from a relatively short height, it would have landed farther from the body, perhaps even several feet away. B is quite a stickler for metaphors; in this case, he arranged the scene so that it looks as though Light is pointing us in the right direction—quite literally, in fact."

"So you mean that we should go in the direction that the blade is pointing?" Mogi asked, holding his chin between two fingers. "That would be back the way we originally came."

"Indeed," L confirmed. "And along the way, B should have set up more clues as to his whereabouts. I have no doubt that he will not directly confront us unless it is on his own turf, so to speak. He has more control over us that way. Essentially, we would be playing right into his hands."

"What the fuck is going on?"

Everyone else looked up as Mello sauntered into the room, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. L himself was pleasantly surprised by the man's appearance; though one side of his face was red, and the skin was deformed by burn scars, he looked to be in good shape otherwise. The detective had suspected that Mello would not be in any condition to assist them; his arm was still covered by bandages, and it hung limply at his side. And, L noted with curiosity rather than fear, the blonde appeared to be seething with rage.

"What are you guys doing?" He stepped farther into the room, his eyes narrowing in on L in particular. "Hatching a plan without me?"

"Mello…" Matt began. "It's not like that. Your burns are still healing—"

"And so is your wound. Save it, Matt," the blonde replied. He returned his intense gaze to L. "Now tell me what's going on. I know that whatever's happening, you must have left me out of it on purpose. What is it?"

The detective surveyed Mello's appearance for barely a second before he nodded in agreement. "Very well. I was filling the others in on my goal to find Lana. If we all play our parts well in this, I believe that we can find her and stop B. It will be quite difficult, however."

"So, what? Everyone here is going with you to find her?" Mello spat at him, sounding affronted by the very thought. L reasoned that he was angered at having been left out, or what he saw as being left out. "That's bullshit. Matt can't even run yet!"

"He does not need to," L explained before Matt had the opportunity to defend himself. "All he has to do is walk. His duty will be surveillance, not enforcement. And Mogi will remain with him at all times. Both he and Itzel have walkie-talkies."

A vein in the blonde's forehead twitched, and his face contorted with rage, the rosy shade in his cheeks becoming a deep red. However, he appeared to relent a moment later—and promptly moved on to another topic. "What about her?" He gestured to Misa, whose attention had been focused on a lock of her own hair up until now.

"I'm really good at following orders!" she said to Mello, enthusiastically fist-pumping into the air.

"She will also be a good distraction," L added on. "If you are worried about the ethics of this plan, then I can assure you that she actually volunteered. If all goes as planned, no harm will come to her. I have already thought this through, Mello. Continuing to try to poke holes in my plan will get you nowhere."

"I get it," the blonde spat. "So why the hell did you guys exclude me? I'm not fucking useless, and I don't want Lana to die either."

"If you were to accompany us, then those who are staying here would be left vulnerable. I cannot say with full certainty that B will not try to attack this place or bring harm to it while we are gone. Unless you are able to find someone of your caliber or higher to stay here with Soichiro, Sayu, and Near while the rest of us are not here, I am afraid that I cannot allow you to come with us. I do not want to make another mistake."

"Leaving me here in the first place is a mistake! How many times do I have to say it?"

"Until it becomes true, apparently."

Mello opened his mouth to object—and was promptly cut off by a harsh knock on the front door. All the heads in the room turned to stare at the source of the noise, and Matsuda was the only one who made a move to answer it.

As soon as the young man looked through the peephole, he sighed in relief. "Don't worry, guys," he told the others. "It's fine. I think we may have solved your problem, actually, Mello." He opened the door to let the visitor in.

Misa squealed in excitement upon seeing the man. "Aizawa! You're back!"

The man with the afro walked into the room with a plastic bag, glancing confusedly at everyone around him. It had been a fairly long time since L had seen him, and the detective noticed that he had managed to grow a short beard.

Aizawa stared at the room's overabundance of occupants, his mouth agape as he tried in vain to understand the situation. His eyes lit up in shock when he caught sight of Itzel and Mogi; the bag fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a heavy _thump_. "Holy—how did you guys get here? My walkie-talkie ran out of batteries, so I couldn't call you, but I never thought you two would make it here without my help."

"What do ya take us for? Idiots?" Itzel asked. "We ain't helpless, ya know."

"Our units were assigned to guard this place once, Aizawa," Mogi added. "It may have been a long time, and the area may look different, but I'm still pretty sharp. So is Itzel."

"What's in the bag, by the way?" the large woman asked, peering over the edge of the couch.

"Batteries. I was planning on calling one of you as soon as I got back—I've been seeing smoke in the sky for the past few days, and I was wondering if you two got caught up in it."

"You could say that…"

Aizawa smiled slightly, his eyes continuing to roam over the room's other occupants. "Okay then…mind telling me what the hell's going on?"

Mogi sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, sure. I'll fill you in."

* * *

This must have been what Hell was like, if there were ever a Hell to begin with. Lana could easily imagine it being so; there was plenty of misery to go around, after all.

She wanted it to stop, but the dark-haired woman had no idea what she could _do_. It was a living nightmare—and she had just stopped having them, too. How ironic was that?

Takada didn't stop screaming as the blood continued to pour from her open wound, and in fact she seemed to be getting louder as time went by. As pain gave way to panic, even the blood appeared to be running faster and thicker.

Lana closed her eyes after only a few seconds; her teeth were chattering and her hands were shaking, her fingernails nearly broken from digging themselves into the wood of the chair. Empathetic pain throbbed in her finger, and she imagined that it was her sitting in B's grasp rather than Takada; though the other woman may have deserved it more, Lana could clearly see the same thing happening to her in a few minutes. After B was done with Takada, who was to say that he wouldn't move on to her next? It may have been selfish, but she couldn't help it. She had always been selfish, always looking out for herself; even when she tried to save others, it never seemed to be good enough…

In spite of her erratic thoughts, a rational one made its way to the forefront of her mind.

_Why is he doing this? What does he want? I thought he was after L—why even bother to torture me and Takada?_ It was then that the scarred woman recalled that B was obviously sick in the head. She shouldn't even try to rationalize his behavior; it would get her nowhere.

"Lana…" The man's sing-song voice sent powerful shivers down his spine, and she clenched her teeth so hard that for a moment she feared they might shatter. "You already can't bear to look? I expected that, more or less. It won't help Takada, though. Go ahead, name a body part. If you choose wisely, it might make it easier for her."

_Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!_ Though she didn't curse B out loud, doing so in her head strangely helped to displace some of her anger and fear. Pissing off the man would only result in more suffering for Takada at this point. It was best to say nothing…

"You still aren't going to say anything? All right, then…"

A grotesque _crack_ and accompanying squelching sound preceded another surge of screaming from Takada, and Lana felt blood well up in her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep herself from doing the same. It was _everywhere_; in her mouth, in the air, in her nose—it even felt as though it was on her hands. But no—that was probably just her guilt.

"Hmm…Takada's down two fingers now. Perhaps I should move on to toes. What do you think, Lana? Or should I let Takada give you some advice?"

Lana listened in escalating horror as the woman's muffled cries gained a new edge; B had removed the gag, and the scarred woman could feel her heart begin to shred as Takada begged for help.

_"Emerson!" _

She couldn't help it; at the sound of the sheer agony in Takada's voice, the dark-haired woman opened her eyes. It painted quite the horrifying picture.

Takada was sitting curled up in a puddle of her own blood. B was propping her up with his chest. Her severed fingers were practically submerged by the scarlet ocean, and the hand that they came from was twitching uncontrollably as blood continued to pour from the wound.

"Emerson," the woman said in a shaky voice, tears pouring from her eyes in an endless torrent. "Please…please, B, let me go. I—I can't—"

"You can't take it anymore?" the man finished for her, his empty hand stroking the top of her head in what looked to be a disgusting mockery of an owner stroking his pet. "That's what you mean, isn't it? What a shame. I was hoping that you would last longer."

_Crack._ Lana flinched as a third finger joined the others on the floor. Takada's tortured screams filled the room once more—only this time, they were not muffled by the gag. The scarred woman heard every gasp for air, every feeble high-pitched whine that came out of Takada's mouth.

"I was right, wasn't I?" B stared at Lana with a satisfied grin. "I told you that you wouldn't be able to resist. You keep looking at her, even though I can see by your face that you're horrified. It's quite intoxicating, isn't it? Other people's pain is fascinating."

It was, Lana realized. It _was_ intoxicating, but not in the same way as alcohol. Watching Takada suffer was intoxicating in the same way as watching a car crash—it gave her a sense of morbid disbelief. It was slow, paralyzing, and a terrible spectacle to behold, but now that she was seeing it, she couldn't bring herself to look away. She tried, but somehow her eyes stayed rooted on the young brunette as she struggled to get away from her captor.

"Judging by your reaction, I take it that you still refuse to name a body part?" B asked, twirling the scissors around in his hand. When she didn't answer him, the man sighed dramatically. "Very well, then. I'm getting bored of this anyway."

Both she and Takada relaxed, relieved for the moment that B was agreeing to stop—but instead, to Lana's horror, B severed the other woman's earlobe with the bloody scissors.

Takada renewed her screaming, though these were filled with more sorrow than pain, most likely due to the fleeting glimpse of hope she had felt moments before.

"What are you doing?!" Lana yelled, straining against the ropes that bound her. "I thought you just said you were getting bored!"

"I was," B confessed, his eyes riveted on the scarlet blood as it ran in thin rivulets down Takada's neck. "Cutting off fingers gets old quickly. After a while, the victim becomes accustomed to the pain—not by much, though; the less intense reaction is hardly noticeable, but it still bothers me. You have to move on to other body parts every now and again, and since you refuse to humor me, I have to decide on my own."

Takada whined at his last statement, and Lana shook her head in terrified disbelief. "You sick bastard…why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

The scarred woman wanted to hit something in her frustration, but settled for growling instead. "Why are you keeping her here? I thought you just wanted to—" She closed her mouth at the last second. She didn't dare to bring up his goal to kill L in this situation. Doing so might distract B for a moment, but it would also focus his attention onto the detective. No…even though she and Takada were suffering (the latter more so) the dark-haired woman didn't want to shift B's psychotic tendencies onto the man she loved. She could deal with this; she only hoped that when her turn came, it wouldn't be too painful. Or, preferably, that it wouldn't come at all.

"Why are you keeping her here?" She inclined her head towards Takada.

B didn't answer her; rather, he proceeded to slice a thin line across the other woman's cheek with one of the scissor blades, eliciting a sharp hiss from his captive. As he observed his bloody handiwork, a bright spark gleamed in his eye. He repeated the motion on the side of her neck, drawing a tortured whimper from her throat.

"Please…" Takada whispered, her voice shaking with fright. It turned into a pained groan when B dragged the blade across her chest, staining the front of her shirt with crimson.

"I would imagine that you wish Light were here," B said quietly, sounding almost benign in his musings as he drew more cries of anguish from Takada. He continued to slice up her exposed skin, dragging the blade across her flesh languidly. "But you have to understand, I couldn't let you go to help him, Takada. If you two had captured Lana as you said you would, you would still be in my way. I don't need you—now that I have her, L will come to me, and there is no one else who will interfere aside from his newfound _friends_. They will die as well, however—just as Light had to. Don't you agree, Lana? You _are_ the one who killed him, after all…"

Takada howled in agony as B whispered the last part into her ear, and he sliced a thick cut across the back of her forearm.

"You understand, don't you?" B asked.

As the scarred woman listened to the woman's cries, saw the ever-growing pool of blood, and felt the vicarious fear flowing through her veins, it finally occurred to her what B was trying to do. He had never intended on letting Takada live, not that she had expected as much; but she had also never expected for him to be this…_cruel._ However, it made so much more sense now that she understood.

This was all just a test for her—to see what she would do if B asked her to choose what parts of Takada he should cut. It made no sense, and at first Lana believed he was being sadistic merely for the sake of it, to cause psychological as well as physical destruction. But no…she understood now what it was he wanted. She had figured out what his game was, and despite the fact that doing so made her feel as though she were physically ill, Lana knew that she had no choice but to play along. It was either that or continue to watch Takada writhe in agony until her inevitable death.

The dark-haired woman closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek as she forced out the two words she never thought she would hear herself say.

"Kill her."

Both B and Takada went silent, and the scarred woman could feel their penetrating gazes through her eyelids.

"What did you say?" B said cheekily.

Lana opened her eyes and saw the serial killer staring at her in excitement, his eyes gleaming and mouth twisted into a happy grin.

It made her sick.

"Kill her," she repeated, her voice bland as she tilted her head towards Takada.

B cocked his head at her, twirling the scissors around on his fingers. "I thought you asked me to let her go a few minutes ago, Lana. What made you change your mind?"

She grit her teeth, tears poking at the corners of her eyes. There was no other choice… "Nothing. Just do it."

"What?" Takada gasped, terror evident in her brown orbs. "No! You can't—please don't! I'm sorry, Emerson. For everything I've done to you—_I'm sorry_!" She released a harsh choking sound when B grabbed her by the throat, sending the woman sprawling onto her back with a forceful shove. He mounted her, and her panicked struggling became fruitless as his weight settled over her. He didn't allow the woman an inch to move.

"Are you sure about this, Lana?" he asked her one last time, the tips of his scissors gleaming with blood.

"…Yes."

Lana forced herself to watch as B brought the scissor blades to Takada's neck, holding the tips to her throat.

"_No_!" she screamed again, thrashing wildly against B's grip. "_Please_! I said I'm _sorry_! Emerson, _tell him to stop_!" The woman yelled her throat raw, but it still did nothing to stop the serial killer. In fact, it only seemed to aggravate the man further.

"You should stop talking now," he told her calmly, his tone ominous. "You are only making it worse for yourself."

Before Lana could tell him to stop, B thrust his hand into Takada's mouth, forcing her jaws open with his fingers. She bit furiously at him, but it had no effect on the man; he grabbed hold of her tongue, and in the split second before Takada could pull the muscle back into the safety of her mouth, the blades had already went for their prize.

Lana stared in horror at the deranged scene, her bones chilled by the distorted screams that made their way out of the other woman's throat. Blood bubbled up out of Takada's mouth, running in large tracks down the sides of her face and onto the floor below her, soaking her short hair in scarlet. B sat and watched her, savoring the moment with a pleasant smile as the woman gurgled and choked on her own tongue.

The scarred woman was all but paralyzed; she watched Takada suffer with horrorstruck eyes and guilt plaguing her, feeling as though she had been the one to make the final cut. But in a way, she had, hadn't she? She had told B to kill her, but only because she felt she had no other choice…right? Still, she did not think that Takada's death would be this—this _horrible_.

Through the brunette's choked screams and gasps, the scarred woman could make out only one intelligible word.

_Sorry_.

_So am I_, she thought, digging her nails into her palms. _So am I_.

Takada fell still after only a minute or so, though afterwards her limbs still gave periodic twitches and spasms. B got off of her corpse with a satisfied expression, and Lana shivered when she saw that he was all but soaked in red. She flinched as he started walking over to her, the scissors still dangling from his fingers.

_Is he going to torture me now? He'll probably make me suffer worse than Takada_… Knowing this, Lana allowed her anger to seep forth.

"Why did you do that?" she spit at him, tears burning her eyes. "She didn't do anything! I asked you to _kill_ her, not to torture her more!"

"Yes, and that was very clever of you," he told her, sounding pleased rather than affronted by her anger. "Did you finally realize what I was trying to tell you all this time?"

"Fuck off."

B nodded, dragging the tip of one of the blades across her cheek. "Good. I can see past your anger, you know. It's written all over your face. You understand now that killing her was your only option. Either you tell me to kill her, or she keeps being tortured over and over until she dies a slow, painful death…which, you could argue, she did anyway. If it's any consolation, her end was marginally better than the one I initially had planned. You did her a favor."

_You sick fuck…_

"How did it feel, Lana? To have control over someone else's death? You could argue that it feels horrible, and I'm sure that it does to you. But you still gave in at the end. You still went through with it, just as I wanted you to. Perhaps now you will realize…" B leaned closer to her, his lips skimming the edge of her ear as though he were whispering to a lover rather than his captive. "…that you are just like me. All humans are, when it comes right down to their core. I have seen very few who will sacrifice themselves for another, especially someone they don't know. They will kill if pressured enough, no matter what. I can't have that—otherwise, what I'm doing wouldn't be very special, now, would it?

"What _are_ you doing, B? What do you want? Everything you've done...all you do is bring misery and death. What could that possibly accomplish?"

B gave a throaty laugh, absentmindedly playing with a lock of her hair. "A fair question. What I want, Lana, is to save those who haven't reached that point of corruption yet, to have the innocents leave this world while the others stay behind. That's why…I'm going to infect the rest of the world with P.H.D."

* * *

**This was a long time coming. More character deaths for all of you—I hope you aren't too put off by it. I'm just going to reassure you that not everyone is going to get killed by B. **

**Thanks for reading!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	32. The Girl Who Split in Two

**Author's Note: Man, I have been so swamped with work lately. It's so nice to get home and be able to work on this instead. :)**

** To version15: Tell me about it. I considered not killing Takada off, but then I realized that it had to be done. I don't really like her character, but I still felt bad. And yes, B is a very dangerous person. **

** To WildfireDreams: B does need to die, but that wouldn't be very good for the plot. I hope you like the ending :)**

** To garnet86: That's exactly what I thought. I figured we wouldn't fully understand B's perspective unless he gets time to do his thing, so to speak. It may be unsavory, but it has to be done! (You'll see who survives at the end.)**

** To RaspberryDiamonds: Thank you! I can't imagine someone doing that to me…that would be a nightmare. **

** To Rileyyheartt: Thanks a lot! I know that not everyone likes stories like this, so it's really cool that you stuck around. I'm glad you like the direction I took the story in, as well as my representations of the canon characters. :) **

** To CainToYourAbel: Me too. Watching someone get a body part severed always makes me cringe. As for B's goal…well, everything will come to light soon enough. (And that part about Harley Quinn is actually pretty accurate, given what you've seen so far. I laughed when you pointed it out.) **

** Glad you liked the torture scene as well. :) Everything will come to fruition soon enough…**

** Warnings: Torture, Sadism, Blood/Gore, Profanity, Mature Content.**

* * *

**Chapter 32: The Girl Who Split in Two**

It was almost time to leave.

As the others prepared themselves to depart—dressing themselves appropriately and taking a hasty meal (which he had already done a few minutes ago)—L felt an uncomfortable sensation swirling in his stomach. It was markedly similar to the time he had gotten "butterflies," as many people referred to it, while rooming with Lana.

However, this feeling was much less pleasant. The nervous jitters associated with the dark-haired woman _did _possess a sort of charm to them. But right now, he felt almost as though he were sick—despite the fact that the detective was certain that he had not eaten anything that had been poisoned or expired; he tended to have a reliable sense of taste and smell when it came to food sabotage. What was even stranger was the fact that the rest of his body felt fine; it was merely his stomach that felt as though it were churning in distaste.

It must have been a psychological effect, then; a byproduct of the massive amount of stress placed on him at the moment. He should be able to brush it off in order to do his job, but L found himself utterly distracted and incapable of doing so. He tried to think of other things rather than the peculiar sensation, such as the visible crumbs etched deeply into the carpet, or the subtle cracks in the door beside him.

As he waited for the others to reconvene in the lobby, L admitted that his attempts were failing. He wiped a persistent bead of sweat from his brow.

_This must be nervousness_, he thought, frowning at the sensation. He rather disliked the smothering aura of simultaneous heat and cold that ran through his body. It was quite distracting. _It is…unpleasant, to say the least_.

This was why he had promised himself to never get too involved with another person, at least not on an emotional level. It clouded one's ability to think straight and with full logical capabilities.

Yet it was now far too difficult for him to discard it. Now that L truly understood what he had been ignoring for his entire life, it seemed, all at once, worthwhile and overtly dangerous. Worthwhile because for a brief span of time, he had been more than content with his lot in life.

Dangerous, because right now, he could not help but consider what was happening to Lana. This would be counterproductive while trying to save her, but he was unable to shake the musings of what B was doing with her. For as long as he had known him, L had been acutely aware of B's morbid creativity. As a boy, he could be quite cruel to both animals and insects, as well as other children whom he had deemed annoying or burdensome. L even recalled B pinning a butterfly to his desk once so that he could observe its wings.

He had removed them afterwards, the detective remembered, once he had gotten bored with the creature.

He wondered momentarily if B would do something similar to Lana. How would he clip her wings? He could not imagine—nor did he want to know. Would B even bother with her, seeing as she was being used as bait? Or would the madman choose a more…psychological route?

Whatever it was, L hoped fervently that Lana would be able to hold out until they arrived.

"Ryuuzaki?"

L glanced towards the source of the deep voice, catching Aizawa's flustered expression as the man reached out with one hand.

"Yes?" the detective responded, biting down on his thumbnail as he coolly regarded the older man's outstretched arm. It looked as though Aizawa had been about to touch his shoulder.

"Are you okay? It looked like you spaced out for a second."

Perhaps he had been stuck inside his head for too long, L reasoned. This would not do while they were outside; he knew that he had to be more alert—for everyone's sake, and not just his own. "I am quite fine, Aizawa. Thank you for your concern. Is there a problem?"

The ex-police officer shook his head, sighing in frustration as he scratched one of his sideburns. "No, not really…I just wanted to wish you luck before you guys leave. Are you completely sure I shouldn't go with you, Ryuuzaki? There must be something I can do to help."

"Unnecessary. All you have to do is stay here and guard the others."

"Are you sure? I'm a police officer! There must be someone else who can stay!"

"If I were you, I would not try to talk Mello out of going. In a battle between your bullheadedness, I believe that we would all be stuck here for another hour. Besides, having too many people with us can be a liability—although, there is one other thing you can do to help."

"What is it?"

L reached out his hand, holding his palm out as though expecting something. "Your walkie-talkie. Itzel and Mogi have two between them, which will be used by Matt and Matsuda. However, in order for the plan to work, I should have one as well. If you do not mind, may I have yours?"

Aizawa looked a bit peeved by the anticlimactic request, but he nodded regardless. "Of course…and if something happens while you're gone, I'm on my own, right?"

"Unfortunately."

"That's fucked."

"It is what it is. Statistically, the others and I are thirty-seven times more likely to be in direct danger than you are, accounting for the presence of many infected people as well. Having you stay here as protection is based solely on the three-point-six percent chance that B does make a move to hurt you. When one weighs the odds, I am more likely to use the walkie-talkie productively."

L resisted the urge to smile at the dazed look on Aizawa's face, and instead flexed his fingers a bit to grab the man's attention. "Now, the walkie-talkie, please."

Without another word, Aizawa gave it to him.

"Thank you. I trust that Sayu, Soichiro, and Near will not come to harm while you are here. I have utmost faith in you."

"Right." The man with the afro gave L a mock salute, backing away as everyone else arrived on the scene.

"Everybody ready?" Itzel chirped out as she came back into the room, a small rucksack tied around her waist. There were murmurs of assent from the others.

Crowded into the lobby were all of those who were coming with L: To one side stood Matt, Itzel, and Mogi, the former with his wounds freshly bandaged and a walkie-talkie hidden in the woman's rucksack; in the middle stood Misa and Mello, the latter with a fierce expression while the blonde girl held an air of determination and resolve that L had never witnessed in her. Finally, off to the far right was Matsuda, who looked equally determined but twice as nervous.

Though they were not a professional team by any means (except for Mogi), they would have to do; quite frankly, they were far more than L could reasonably hope for. The fact that all of them had made it this far was surprising in itself, and spoke volumes about their future contribution to this effort.

L looked over everyone once more, giving a small nod of approval. "Is everyone ready?"

A collective nod answered his question, and their muscles tensed in anticipation of what would meet them once they went outside.

"Let's go, then."

At the same time, all of them donned the surgical masks that Soichiro had provided, concealing their noses and mouths so as to avoid the possibility of infection. Now that the fences had been broken, it was imperative that they cover themselves for an extended period of time spent outside.

Just as L grasped the doorknob, he heard Itzel shout from behind him.

"Near, wait up!" the older woman exclaimed, her voice muffled by the mask.

The detective turned back around, raising his eyebrows as he saw the white-haired boy standing behind him. Near stared up at him with a stoic expression, his dark eyes effectively masking any and all of his emotions.

"Is something wrong, Near?" L asked, curious as to the boy's intentions.

Near appeared to be scrutinizing him as he glanced over the older man from head to toe. "As much as I would like to go with you, I understand why I cannot. The way things are, your plan seems to be the best course of action. Besides, I may be of help here if anything were to happen."

L cocked his head as the young boy spoke, and was filled with more appreciation for his analytical capabilities. Indeed, he would have made for a near-perfect apprentice, if only he were more emotionally mature. He did not possess the lurid idiosyncrasies of B, nor the unstable mindset that had led A to commit suicide early in his life. If only the situation had been different…

"I would like to go," Near continued, two of his fingers idly playing with a lock of white hair, "but I can clearly see where it is that I am needed, and where I am not. And, after all, I believe that if anyone is capable of bringing Lana back, it would be you."

L was shocked, to say the least, by Near's admission. That was the closest thing to a compliment he had ever heard the young boy offer. Perhaps there was hope for him, after all—though the reminder that he was supposed to abandon them all still echoed in the back of his mind.

"Thank you, Near," L responded, nodding at him. Then, to the man's continued surprise, the boy smiled at him—a snarky, barely-there sort of grin, but a grin nonetheless. It nearly caused the detective to do a double take.

Near backed away then, lingering in the background of the lobby as L turned back around to face the door. Though none of them knew exactly where B would lead them, they knew that they had no other option but to do as the serial killer wished of them.

They left the laboratory with renewed determination—and, L thought, possibly misguided hope.

* * *

After so long spent without nightmares, it was happening again. She knew it, yet she could not manage to snap herself out of it.

Lana stood in a wide, open space, the area around her devoid of all life and the ground beneath her covered by a dark, warm liquid that ran disgustingly between her bare toes. If she were optimistic, she would call it water rather than blood—but then, was she ever so lucky these days? The liquid was sticky, and smelled disgustingly of salt and iron. She willed the cloying stench to dissipate, but wishing did nothing to assuage the assault on her nose.

"This isn't real," she whispered to herself, but saying so did not make it feel any less poignant. The blood ran in all directions, stretching away from her for as far as the eye could see. The scarlet ocean was all that there was; there was nothing else—no trees, no animals, no buildings, and no people.

All except for one: herself.

"Is that what you think? You're even dumber than I thought."

Lana whipped around, determining the source of the voice to be coming from right behind her—but when she turned, there was no one there.

"I'm right here, dipshit."

She turned around again, but was still woefully unable to pinpoint where the other woman's voice was coming from.

"Jesus," the voice scoffed at her, the sound grating on Lana's ears. "And you've even got two working eyes! Is this really how low you've sunk?"

The dark-haired woman forced her eyes shut, trying with no success to wish the voice out of existence.

"You've really done it this time," the woman said disapprovingly. "So you're going by _Lana_ again, huh? Personally, I think Emerson sounds better. Makes me sound more badass. You always did like to intimidate people. But I guess you wouldn't care about that anymore, would you?"

The voice was right in her ear now, and with a gasp and a shudder, Lana's eyes shot back open.

Finally, the person she had been looking for was standing right in front of her. Lana stared at herself in suspicion, still put off by how eerily similar the copy looked. It was almost as though she were looking into a mirror, and with a jolt she raised her hand to her face.

Right. She didn't have her scar in this dream; for whatever reason, her body had reverted back to how she had looked before getting the gruesome mark. She was wary of what the scarred woman in front of her might do, though she didn't even bother to question why she should be afraid. It wasn't as though her doppelganger could hurt her, but it still made her feel uneasy.

"What are you talking about?" she asked her other self, her voice shaking.

"I'm talking about how fucking _pathetic_ you are," the other woman sneered. "Call me whatever you want, but you know that you were better off on your own, even with Light fucking Yagami calling the shots. I'm glad the bastard's dead, along with his perky fucking girlfriend, but now you've royally screwed yourself, Lana. Being pissed off all the time does cause you to make some rash decisions, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean _me_? You're screwed too, you know. We're both trapped with B right now."

"You really think so? I don't give a shit about what happens to you, or to me, or to us—whatever you want to call it. I am who I am, and who I am means that I'm past the point of caring. You, on the other hand, are going to suffer—all because you suddenly find life worthwhile again."

The woman stepped closer, the tip of her nose barely brushing against Lana's.

"All because you're in _love. _Isn't that right?"

Lana blushed, her hands clenching as she seethed in fury at the teasing lilt in the other woman's voice. With a bit of irony, she wondered who in the hell this woman thought she was. It was technically herself, she knew, but the dark-haired woman still found herself enraged by the woman's condescending tone.

"What do you care?" she snapped, allowing her anger to get the better of her. "I thought you didn't give a shit about what happened to me."

"Obviously, but that doesn't mean I won't tell you like it is. I can still call you on your bullshit. Just try to think of me as the Jiminy Cricket from hell."

Lana scoffed at her doppelganger, pointedly turning away from her snickering face and cocky demeanor. "That sounds like the exact opposite of what I need. Are you even listening to yourself? Fuck... Who the hell am I kidding? You aren't even real, anyway—what do you know?"

Her clone smiled creepily, the sight sending shivers down the dark-haired woman's spine. "You really are a fucking idiot," she sneered, the sound effectively disarming Lana's nerve. "I'm as real as you want me to be. It's your head, after all. The fact that you're even talking to me shows that you don't believe what you're saying. My thoughts, my words, my personality—it all has to come from somewhere, doesn't it? It's from_ you_, Lana—from your own mind. There's nothing I've said so far that you haven't already thought yourself."

The dark-haired woman stiffened, unable to offer any words that would prove her copy wrong. It was true; she must have believed—or at least considered—all of what her doppelganger had said, otherwise she wouldn't even be dreaming about it. She would not feel so conflicted if this conversation were two-sided.

This did not make her feel any better.

"What is this?" she whispered to herself, staring down at her empty hands and the river of blood that ran below them. "Why am I dreaming about you again?"

"That's a stupid question. How are you feeling right now? That would be a better question to ask."

Lana watched as ripples formed in the puddle below her, the blood swishing as her shaking feet jostled the liquid ever so slightly. _How am I feeling? How do I feel? Do I…_

"Conflicted," she said, the word springing from her lips without any need for provocation. "I don't really know what to do—or maybe I do, but…"

"But you're too weak to do anything about it," the doppelganger finished for her.

Lana said nothing in response—because those were the same exact words that she had been thinking. She merely nodded in shameful admittance, bowing her head to the other woman.

"Well, there's your answer," her copy said. "That's why you turned back to me—to the part of yourself that thrives under pressure." The doppelganger sauntered closer, her undamaged eye flickering with mischief. "The part of yourself that actually likes the filth, and the blood…"

The clone's breath tickled her ear, and the dark-haired woman shivered against her.

"The person you became after you got _this_." Lana's copy fingered the grotesque scar that ran through her eye, peeling the lids apart so as to place the ghostly eye on full display. "Oh, yeah, it may have been mostly an act, but you can't deny that you enjoyed fighting. It made you feel good, didn't it? That little voice in the back of your head, it made you feel strong whenever you beat the shit out of someone. And it made you that much more determined to get back at them when someone beat _you_. After a while, that person became a part of you…"

A phantom pain bloomed in Lana's right eye, and her hand flew up to grasp the undamaged organ. "I…"

"That's why you started going by Emerson. A new start…and a new you. Literally. Admit it, Lana—you know that unless you let that part of you take over, you're fucked. You could hide your weakness once you met L and the others, but not anymore. B's going to tear you apart unless you man the fuck up."

Lana didn't respond; she could feel her hand shaking against her face, betraying her anxiety to the other woman.

"Come on, decide—what's it gonna be? Lana or Emerson? Choose wisely, and don't be a dumbass."

The dark-haired woman shook against her doppelganger, her breath coming faster now as she struggled to hide her increasing emotional instability.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the other woman lost patience.

"Enough of this bullshit! You weren't this indecisive before. You didn't have a problem giving in back at Waterfront. I mean, you put up a fight sometimes and actually acted like you cared, but for the most part you were a pretty mean bitch. God knows why Itzel even liked you."

"That was before…" Lana couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. She knew that her doppelganger must know the answer anyway—they were one and the same, after all. She had to know everything that was on her mind.

"Before you met L, right?" A tiny nod was all that greeted her question, and she scoffed derisively. "Figures. You've gone soft. But really, though, do you think you have a snowball's chance in hell of getting out of here alive? Right now, at least, things are looking pretty bleak. The way you are, you won't make it five more minutes in B's company. I can tell you're this close to losing your shit.

"Look me in the eye, Lana—the good one—and tell me that you're going to make it. Tell me that you really think your friends will come to save you in time."

Lana felt her hair being pulled back, and her dark eyes met the mismatched ones of her doppelganger. She disregarded the pain in her roots, and met the other woman's gaze without flinching.

"Tell me that you're good enough to survive. That you're good enough for L—because right now, you aren't good for anything. I don't think anyone would bother to try and save a sniveling coward like you."

She could not deny that the last part stung a bit, especially since she even considered it to be partially true. She wanted to believe that the other woman's words were wrong, that she was only displaying her deepest insecurities in times of stress, and that nothing she heard here was actually true.

But she couldn't, because deep down, she believed those words wholeheartedly. What good _was_ she doing here, locked up and being used as bait by a psychopath? All she was doing was helping to lure L to his death…

On one hand, she wanted to believe that she was projecting her most base fears onto her unconscious psyche…but an increasingly dominant part of her refused to believe such a beautiful lie.

This was why, with a heavy heart, she finally gave in.

"You're right," she whispered, her voice broken as she stared down at the river of blood that ran beneath her.

Her clone sneered, casting Lana a sideways glance that spoke volumes of her suspicion. "Am I?"

The dark-haired woman nodded. "Yes. I understand what you mean now. I…I didn't want to admit it before, but I think you're right. About everything…"

"So what? What are you going to do about it? You still love L. B's still out there. So what's the game plan?"

Chapped lips pulled back the skin of her cheeks, displaying a set of teeth that formed an eerie lopsided smirk. Lana's eyes darkened considerably, and her fists clenched as she turned around to smirk at her doppelganger.

"Me?" she teased, catching even her copy off guard with that bone-chilling grin, "Well, I'm going to give him hell, of course. No more cooperation—I don't give a fuck what he does or who he does it to. He'll have to kill me first."

* * *

Time slows down when you're trapped in the same room for hours on end. It was like being stuck in a too-small box, claustrophobic and disturbing as you wait for the inevitable realization that someone else is lurking in the shadows.

That was how Lana felt upon waking up. At least she was no longer sitting up; she was certain that she would have had much worse than a sore neck if she had been. While she was asleep, B had apparently strapped her down to the table again, as well as given her another dose of that watered-down anesthetic. Once more, she stared blindly up at the blank ceiling. She could almost pretend that the events as of late had been a sick dream, and that Takada was actually still alive somewhere.

But of course, the woman knew that this was a fanciful lie. The young brunette's body might still be sitting on the other side of the room, but it was certainly no longer living; it still reeked strongly of blood.

Against her body's protests, the dark-haired woman turned to look—and, to her surprise and relief, Takada's corpse was no longer there. What remained was a large bloodstain, one that covered several feet of the white floor and was scattered throughout with several indistinguishable body parts…all except for one, the oblong shape of which clued the scarred woman in as to what it was. Her own tongue throbbed in response, absentmindedly pressing against the roof of her mouth as though to remind her that it was still present.

Lana shuddered, tearing her eyes away from the sight and the cynical thoughts that inevitably followed it. _That's going to be me soon enough, isn't it? _She tried not to dwell on it too much, though doing so was easier said than done when one was lying on a bare table awaiting their psychotic captor's return. Even so, the dark-haired woman struggled to push the primal fear aside, to instead take up a nonchalant demeanor that would fool even the serial killer. She didn't want to show any weakness or give B any more ammunition with which to torment her. Forcing her to kill Takada was bad enough; she didn't relish the thought of being a part of another one of his twisted games.

_I have to stay calm…_

"You're awake already? You keep on surprising me, Lana. Perhaps I'll have to up your dosage even more next time. I take it that it wasn't a very restful sleep?"

Lana frowned deeply as B's face entered her field of vision, his features still blurred from the latest dose of whatever he had given her. All she knew was that she'd been knocked out far longer than last time; the soreness in her limbs and dry mouth testified to that. Despite the numbness in her cheeks, she tried to make her expression as fierce as possible, turning her face into a hateful mask.

B cocked his head at her attempt. "You seem angry," he said, two fingers gripping her chin. The scarred woman pulled away from his touch, repulsed by the sensation of his skin touching her own. She didn't get very far, however, and the serial killer merely grinned at her futile attempt. "I can't blame you—though I will admit I thought you would be more afraid. Or are you just putting on a mask?"

"None of your business," Lana mumbled back at him, glaring all the more intensely at her captor.

"I see. And to what do you owe this drastic change in attitude, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do mind."

B sighed, leaning against her table with what looked like a wistful gleam in his eyes. Quite frankly, it made her sick. "You don't want to tell me. Then I'll just ask: Is it about Takada? Because I assure you, you made the right choice."

"Fuck off."

The man ignored her curse, and instead returned his focus to the task at hand. "Are you afraid that you're going to die? Is that why you're putting up a strong front? Perhaps you're thinking that these are going to be your last moments. It's unnecessary, I'm afraid. I can still sense your fear…"

Chills crawled down her spine at the predatory shift in B's tone. It made her tense up out of reflex, though she staunchly refused to answer his questions. She kept her face hardened into a hateful glare, intent on preserving what little she had left of her dignity.

"Lana?"

She continued to glare at him, refusing to answer his extremely accurate speculation on her state of mind.

"Is it about L, I wonder? It's quite obvious that you're infatuated with him, what with the way you kept saying his name in your sleep. It's quite sad, actually; what a shame he didn't even bother to tell you his real one. Perhaps he doesn't trust you enough."

_That _struck a chord, though the scarred woman tried her absolute best not to show it by keeping her tone as even as possible. "Shut up, you bastard." _What does he know? He's never even had a real relationship, I bet. He doesn't understand anything about me, or about L…_

Despite her strong words, though, Lana could feel some of her earlier confidence waning.

_No! Don't give up now, you bitch! _

"It's true. L doesn't trust anyone. In reality, all you are to him is a tool."

"_Shut the fuck up!"_ The sheer menace in her voice even caught B off guard, for he glanced at her with raised brows.

"Have I struck a nerve?"

Lana scoffed, rage singing in her veins. "You really think I'd talk to _you_ about my life's sorrows? Don't make me laugh. You're a sick fuck who gets off on hurting others—like I would ever tell you my problems. You may as well just kill me right now and get it over with."

"You know I cannot do that, Lana."

"I know, I know," she said, waving her head side to side. "Because I'm a captive, right? You need me alive so that L will come to save me. If you kill me, your bargaining chip's gone—not that you're going to let me go, anyway. Besides, do you really think L's going to give into you so easily?"

"You're wrong," B whispered, his calm tone grating on her ears.

"What?"

"You're wrong, Lana. Yes, it is true that I need you to ensure that L will come to me, but did you forget what I told you before? I wanted to do an experiment. I've been watching _you_—not just L. I saw you once, by yourself, when you still lived at Waterfront. I must say, I was…intrigued. I'm not usually a voyeur—unless the subject in question is in pain or injured—but I found you compelling all by yourself. Perhaps it was the aura you exude. There's something off about you—I could tell even back then. It felt as though you were hiding something from the rest of the world."

Lana's eyes widened as B pulled out a switchblade—hers, she realized with a jolt—and held the hilt gently in his hand. The tip was pressed against his finger, and the scarred woman worried for a moment that he was going to cut himself.

_If he gets any of his blood on me…_

Thankfully, as she watched, the man turned the blade away from himself. She sighed, relaxing somewhat—but then, as Lana stared at him with hollow eyes, the serial killer lowered the knife to her torso. Before she could utter a word of protest, B sliced open her shirt. Her tan skin was illuminated by the midday light that filtered through the blinds, and her bare midriff was on display for B to see.

"What the fuck?" Lana protested, unable to cover herself from the man's prying eyes. _What is he doing?_

Her stomach clenched as the cold tip of the knife touched her skin, reflexively pulling away from the dangerous weapon.

"Stop it," she hissed, outraged by the teasing way in which B dragged the blade across her skin.

"This bothers you," he said, his eyes riveted on the flesh of her abdomen. "Will you show your fear now?"

Through the mask of anger, Lana smiled, her expression twisted to the point of insanity. She refused to give in to B's attempts to make her crack.

"Not a chance in hell," she snapped, giving a short laugh at the man's curious frown.

"Okay, then."

Lana barely registered the movement of the knife, but she felt the sharp pain in her abdomen almost immediately. The dark-haired woman hissed as her own knife was used against her, opening up the skin of her stomach. The wound was thankfully shallow, but it still stung.

As the initial pain faded, Lana allowed her hiss of pain to devolve into hysterical laughter, channeling all her fear and frustration into the manic noise. The disturbing sound filled the room, reverberating off the white walls and echoing in the dimly lit space. Even B's eyes widened at her response, and a deep frown overtook his face.

"Go ahead," Lana urged him once her giggles had faded somewhat. "Keep cutting me, if you think that'll help. It won't, though. All you'll have is a mess and another corpse. Is that what you want?"

B stared at her intensely; if gazes could truly turn people to stone, then Lana was certain that she would have been a goner. He blinked once, bringing his face closer to hers as though he couldn't quite make her out. The dark-haired woman shuddered imperceptibly when she felt his breath on her face, but remained steady in her resolve to not show her fear.

"You've got me there," he said simply, fiddling with the switchblade as though it were a mere toy. "I am not going to kill you just because you are trying to provoke me. It would be such a waste."

Lana released a tired sigh, shooting a pointed glare at the man. She had figured as much—though she had admittedly bet a lot on the assumption that he wouldn't.

"However," B went on, "that does not mean that I cannot continue to experiment. I only hope that you'll outlast Takada—though I will give you my word that I won't cause you as much pain as she experienced."

Dread pooled in her stomach—his word didn't comfort her all that much—but above all else, she was angry. Yet she didn't struggle, even as B lowered the knife to her arm. She knew there would be no point in resisting, and making any sudden movements could end up causing even more damage. She forced herself to stay still, but her fury still managed to break through her twisted grin.

With neat precision, B sliced open the skin of her forearm, dragging the blade at a torturously slow pace. Lana immediately felt blood well up, soaking her arm in warmth as it pooled on the surface of the table. She even heard it dripping onto the floor, and had to fight to keep a smile on through the pain.

"It will heal," B said calmly, inspecting his work with a keen eye.

As he pulled away, one of his hands drifted too close to Lana's face, and without bothering to consider the consequences, the dark-haired woman dove for the appendage with wild jaws.

Her teeth snapped closed on nothing but air; B managed to pull away just in time, but he stared at her in shock—and, to Lana's chagrin, faint amusement.

"Like a cornered animal," he said, his teasing grin further inciting the woman's wrath.

"Well, what can I say?" she spit back at him. "When you're trapped with a psychopath for this long, maybe they start to rub off on you." Lana privately shivered at the notion that she had admitted to being even remotely like B, baring her teeth at the serial killer.

"Hmm…you're not so self-righteous anymore, are you? I wonder what happened."

The scarred woman barely heard herself when she spoke.

"Nothing," she mumbled, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Nothing happened."

B raised an eyebrow at her cryptic statement, brandishing the knife above her so as to grab her attention. Her eyes zeroed in on her own weapon, staring at it with unusual apathy that transformed into an eerie grin.

"Do your worst."

B smiled down at her, returning his attention to her bare skin. And through it all—every cut, every slash, every drop of blood that was spilled—Lana kept that deranged smile on her face.

* * *

**On a side note, I really like the title of this chapter. It's probably my favorite. I've wanted to use it for a long time. Anyway, thanks for reading! **

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	33. Beyond

**Author's Note: I'm so excited! Things are really coming together now! **

** To version15: I know! I wish I could have given Aizawa a larger role, but I think he's fine where he is. It's hard enough keeping track of all the other characters, lol. I'm glad you like B! I always thought of him as similar to L, but with less restraint and more…well, psychopathic tendencies. **

** To WildfireDreams: :)**

** To RaspberryDiamonds: I hope you're feeling better! Yep, from here on out it's probably going to be a lot of darkness with some unexpected (hopefully) twists. I don't want to give away the ending, though, nor what's going to happen to Lana. And I'm happy that you like my writing so much :)**

** To garnet86: That was my intention. I can do a lot of violence, but it's the psychological aspect of the story that I find the most interesting to write. Oh man, this is getting intense! I hope the ending lives up to your expectations :)**

** To CainToYourAbel: No it's not, lol. I like crazy Lana too. I wouldn't say it's so much of a split personality as it is the projection of the person she wants to be. (Or the person she became, depending on your point of view.) That being said, it would probably freak L out, haha. I hope you like the chapter!**

** To WhiteLadyDragon: Sorry if you didn't like it! I know that not all people enjoy reading about all the blood and guts and whatnot. Props to you for suffering through it! It's good that you feel despair, though. It means the story's working :)**

** Warnings: Physical/Psychological Torture, Blood—like, a whole shitload of blood, Mindfuckery, Mature Content, Profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 33: Beyond**

The heat was smothering in its intensity, the sun beating down on them without mercy as they sauntered down the street. The sensation of hot pavement even seeped through the soles of L's shoes as he shuffled along, making him grateful for the first time to be wearing the stifling garments. He figured that it must be high noon already for it to be this hot, though his long sleeves and dark pants no doubt amplified the high temperature. Sweat beaded on his brow and on the back of his neck, causing his shaggy hair—which had grown a bit longer since his arrival in Los Angeles—to stick uncomfortably to his skin.

Despite the man's discomfort, he still found his greatest stress to be stemming from the lack of potential clues thus far; he had not seen anything that could be qualified as a possible landmark from B. As of right now, he had nothing that could provide him a way to figure out the other man's location.

And, for a lack of a better term, L was uneasy. Lana's very life—and the success of his case—depended on him being able to track the serial killer. B was extremely good at covering his tracks, and would be found most likely only if he wanted to. It would take quite a bit of luck or technology (that the detective did not have) in order to find him.

Even so, he could not afford to give up.

Seven pairs of eyes stayed alert, periodically glancing behind themselves as though waiting for someone to come up behind them. It wasn't an unrealistic fear, L thought, his dark eyes roaming over every exposed surface that they could reach. They all had to be extremely careful; they had to stay alert and on their toes so as to ensure that none of them got hurt or ambushed by an infected person or—though the chance was slight—by B himself. Right now, the detective believed that the serial killer attacking them was the least of their worries; B would not be so bold as to attack their group in broad daylight, especially considering that he was vastly outnumbered. Each of them was armed with a scalpel provided by Soichiro, however, just in case someone who had been infected assaulted them. Though the prospect of being doused with infected blood was unappealing, it was a far better alternative to get the blood on your clothes—that was why they had the masks, after all—than to allow yourself to be killed or injured, in which case you might be infected anyway.

"How long have we been walking?" Matsuda said, sounding tired and nervous from where he stood at the back of the group.

"Fuck if I know," Itzel muttered in response, her tone unashamedly disinterested.

"None of us have watches," Mello snapped at the other man, his voice full of venom that most likely stemmed from his own irritation. "How the hell are we supposed to know?"

"I—I didn't mean it like that," Matsuda stuttered back, his blush obvious even though L was not looking at his face. "I was just wondering if anyone could estimate it. I haven't been keeping track…"

"Well, stop wondering," Mello told him. "It's pointless."

"About two hours," Matt interjected. "You can tell by examining the position of the sun. It's directly overhead, so it's about noon. We would have gotten farther by now, but that's my fault. I can't walk as fast as I normally do." The brunette sounded sheepish, as though he was embarrassed by his blatant handicap. "Sorry."

"No apology is necessary," the detective said, his monotone cutting through the uncomfortable atmosphere. "Your presence is needed. It would have been detrimental to leave you back at the laboratory. Besides, B will wait for us, if his intent truly is to lure me there. The time it takes to get there makes no difference if the disparity is so small."

"Che," Mello scoffed. "Bullshit. He shouldn't have come."

"Like you're one to talk—"

"Why are you guys fighting?" Misa cooed, her footsteps increasing in pace. "We should all be comfortable with each other, don't you think? If we act snarky with one another then we won't be able to work together to save Emmy."

Idly, L mused that this was the most intelligent thing he had ever heard the blonde girl say. "You are right, Miss Amane. However, there are some among us who would rather choose to dwell on the past than pay attention to the present—and the possible clue that B left us."

An irritated sigh made its way out of Mello's mouth, but he voiced no further complaint. Matt did the same.

The group continued to stroll along the street; all of them kept watch for any signs of tampering or odd attractions that could have been left by the serial killer.

_What kind of clue would B leave for me? Surely it would be something obvious—it would attract my attention, even if no one else realized it to be odd. Perhaps he will attempt to recreate something that we both experienced together—a memory from his childhood at the orphanage would be a prime candidate. Though, if he were to do that, it would be something meaningful, something that serves as a symbol of our relationship or that signaled a major shift in his life_…

A distinct memory surfaced in his mind, and L stiffened. Detached images, not in any chronological order, flashed repeatedly through his mind. The splatters of blood, so similar in appearance to the tie-dye pattern on a child's shirt, once again raced to the forefront of his memory. _No…he wouldn't…_

Even as he denied the possibility, a feminine gasp reached his ears, and L was pulled away from his musings at precisely the same moment as the others.

A truly ghastly sight awaited them in the alley beyond the building they had just passed; Misa was right to be appalled, he thought.

The corpse was what first attracted the detective's attention; he sighed in relief when he realized that the victim was male, rather than the slender female he had been expecting—dreading—to see. He was not freshly killed, but his body had not yet begun to rot. The scorching sun would soon take care of that—however, this was not what ultimately kept L's eye riveted on the dead man's body.

It was the blood—more than that, it was the distinct, familiar pattern of the blood. The dried fluid caked the ground beneath the body, the pallor almost blackened by the heat of the sun. It had soaked into cracks and crevices, run in rivulets across the pavement, and pooled all around the gangly limbs and open wound in the victim's throat. On top of that, a great deal of blood had been sprayed onto the wall behind him, as though is jugular had been cut in such a way that it had caused him to projectile-bleed onto the surface.

_No…that isn't normal_, L thought. _It would not have bled in such a strange pattern._ He narrowed his eyes at the scene.

The others were apparently disturbed by the sight—though not as much as L was, knowing exactly what it had been emulating. They moved past him as he stood stock-still in the street, paralyzed by the onslaught of memories that plagued him.

"Ryuuzaki? What're ya doing? It's just a corpse, ain't it?"

"Perhaps," he said, biting the nail of his thumb. "Or perhaps not."

A sense of familiarity washed over him as the blood spatters began to reform, to distort into something eerily recognizable to the detective. The man's lanky body shrunk, becoming smaller and more juvenile atop the veritable sea of blood. Dark hair lightened, transforming into an ash blonde with the edges tinged scarlet. Large hands became softer, and the fingernails were now caked full of blood rather than dirt and grime.

L knew what this was—and he knew that it had been no mindless murder. It had been perfectly staged, flawlessly set up so as to recreate one of the most nightmarish memories that B had ever experienced.

A's suicide.

It made sense, though the detective wondered at the care with which B had set it up with some degree of surprise—though he supposed he shouldn't be. Of course B would remember every detail of that day with perfect clarity; it had been the day that finally solidified his initial descent into madness—the day when he had been lost beyond all hope of return.

On the day of his first successor's death, B had been the one to find his body. He had found his best friend and biggest competition bleeding to death on the bathroom floor of the orphanage—but he had not told anyone. It was only hours later, when one of the other kids complained that the bathroom door was locked, that Watari finally found them—A, lying in a puddle of his own blood, and B, who sat huddled on one side of the room, staring at A's corpse amidst the darkness.

Horrifying mess aside, A had managed to do one final thing before he perished. On the bathroom wall, with the blood from his own wrists, he had written three sentences:

_Sorry, L. I couldn't handle it. Let's meet again._

As L returned to the present, he shivered despite himself. It was so similar, and only when the man looked closely at the blood did he understand why. The wall was truly a mess, sprayed haphazardly with the gore from the man's murder—only it wasn't haphazard, he soon realized. Beneath the lanky, elongated lines and trickled drops of crimson, the blood formed readable words. The letters were messily drawn—most likely with B's own fingers—and parts of them were even missing, but L was able to fill in the spaces of absent lines with his imagination. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the message.

"Ryuuzaki?" Itzel said. "What's wrong? You don't know the guy, do you?"

The detective ignored her, chewing furiously on his thumb as his brain whizzed through all the possibilities, deciphering the cryptic words that B had no doubt left for him. "Do you see it?" he finally asked, turning to face the others. "In the blood?"

They all looked back at the wall, their brows furrowing in both confusion and disgust; both Misa and Matsuda tried to avert their eyes entirely from the scene.

"What are you talking about?" Mello said, staring at L as though he had grown a second head.

"Allow me to recite it for you," he told them, his stomach churning at the thought. " '_Hello, L. Let's meet again, at the place where it all began._'"

As he read the gory message out loud, the others stared at the wall with squinted eyes—until, finally, Itzel's widened in shock.

"Holy shit," she whispered. "This guy's seriously fucked up. He killed a dude just to use his blood to send a message?"

"Evidently," the detective said. "I told you that he is dangerous."

"It's not like I'm gonna go running," the large woman backtracked, "but that's crossin' a line. You sure this guy's human?"

"Physically, yes. Emotionally, I am not certain that he is anymore. He has gone far beyond any attempts at reasoning with him."

An awkward silence filled the air, accompanied by mutual worry over Lana's possible situation. It was only broken by the sound of Matt clearing his throat.

"Well…" he began, "…what do you think he's talking about? Where _did _it all begin, Ryuuzaki? The message is for you, after all."

L nodded in response. Though the message was purposely cryptic to the others, it was as clear as day to him.

He knew exactly where B wanted him to go.

"I believe I know where it is he is referring to."

* * *

It went on for a long time, and though Lana wanted nothing more than to scream her heart out at B, there was a part of her that also found morbid humor in the situation. To that end her laughter, though demented, was also partially honest. She was amazed that throughout everything that had happened to her, she was never able to find true laughter or happiness again until she left Waterfront with L. Yet, as soon as she managed to do so, it was all ripped away from her. Above all else, it both amused her and instilled a sense of disdain for the petty person she used to be.

How ironic.

B was extremely patient with her, and the scarred woman supposed that she shouldn't be surprised. After all, for quite a while he had been lying in wait for an opportunity to strike at her and L—he was surely able to take his time with her as well. Besides, he was probably enjoying himself immensely—if enjoyment were the reason why he killed in the first place. Even if it weren't, playing with her most likely afforded him a way to pass the time while he waited for L to arrive. Lana reasoned—perhaps irrationally, but she was past the point of making that distinction—that the longer she was able to hold out, the more time the detective would have to form a plan to take down B once and for all.

In the meantime, however, she would wait for a chance to escape. If one were presented, it would make this all at least partially worthwhile, and she tried valiantly to stick with this optimistic approach.

So she laughed. She laughed her throat raw, until her voice was scratched all to hell and her cheeks hurt from grinning. She cackled with increasing fervor every time the man cut into her.

She did it for L.

Finally, after her arms had gone almost numb from the stinging pain, B stopped cutting her. He withdrew her switchblade, playing with the knife and twisting it around as though pondering what to do next. The blade glistened with a shiny coat of her own blood. Lana stared up at the serial killer, taking the opportunity to regain her lost breath.

_What is he doing now? _

She smiled sarcastically at him, baring her teeth. "What is it?" she taunted, her voice teasing. "Did you get bored already?"

"Not particularly," B said calmly, refusing to give in to her provocation. "I was just wondering something."

"What?" she spit, rolling her eyes at the bizarrely casual tone he used. It was almost comical how normal he was acting in this situation—and how normal _she_ was acting in response. They were practically having a conversation, something that the dark-haired woman found particularly peculiar. She was certain that some people would be screaming with terror right now, pleading with B to stop this torture. That would be a consistently normal reaction. Of course, Lana knew that doing this would only provoke the serial killer to continue with his torment, so it would be counterproductive to even try it. In any case, she didn't relish the idea of cowering to someone who she saw as a mortal enemy.

"I wanted to ask you why you're laughing," B said, his large eyes boring into hers. "It's very strange. I initially thought that you were doing it only to pretend that you weren't in pain—or perhaps just to spite me—but it's highly likely that you would have given up by now. If it were only for that reason, you would have stopped already. There must be another reason, isn't there?"

Lana snorted at his observation, staring up at the ceiling impassively. She was far from wanting to admit that he was right; she had been thinking along the same lines earlier. However, she knew that he would refuse to leave the subject alone if she were to deny it.

"Maybe you're right," she admitted. "Maybe I just think this whole thing is a big fucking joke."

"Why so?"

"What else am I supposed to think? I spend my whole goddamn life fucking around, going nowhere, and basically giving up. Then everything goes to shit, and suddenly everything I've done feels justified because it was all for nothing anyway. That's the way it is. Then, when it occurs to me that maybe I was wrong, it all goes back to shit. It's the biggest fucking joke I've ever heard."

"Having hope can be dangerous," B added on, nodding his head at her. "It can make you feel that much more hopeless when nothing ever goes your way."

"You've got that right. Now I'm stuck here because of you."

B cocked his head at her, and then leaned it over her own so that her view of the ceiling was obscured. "Would you like me to kill you, then? Have you finally given up?"

_No._ "It doesn't matter what I say, does it? You're going to do what you want anyway—and you've already made it clear what that is."

"That isn't really _your_ answer, Lana. It's an avoidance tactic. You do want something, don't you?"

"Everybody wants something."

"Sometimes something, other times someone."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You have also made it clear what you want. You wish to go back to L."

Lana averted her eyes, glaring fiercely at the wall. "I thought we were talking about death."

"In my mind—and yours as well—the two are inexorably linked."

The dark-haired woman opened her mouth to protest, but found herself puzzled by B's words. "What are you talking about?" She had a feeling that she didn't really want to know, but forced herself to stay calm and collected. He would tell her regardless of whether she wanted to know or not.

"You seem to idolize L quite a lot. I don't mean to say that you are entirely ignorant of his nature; I'm sure you are far from seeing him as perfect. But I also know that you are not fully aware of—if at all—his past. Am I correct?"

At first Lana was overcome with the urge to scoff at the question—but then, with a burst of unpleasant clarity, she realized that B was exactly right.

What _did_ she know about L, apart from several facets of his bizarre personality and his almost otherworldly abilities as a detective? She didn't possess any knowledge of the details of his personal life, nor of his family, or even of what his job actually entailed. It amazed her, now that she actually thought about it, how little she knew of the man she had fallen head over heels for.

Who, she wondered, did it say more about? Herself, for not bothering to question L's hesitance about divulging his past, or him, for never offering to? _Did_ he trust her? Or was his faith in her never based on her character or emotions, but rather on the level of usefulness she offered?

Was _that _why he hadn't told her anything?

And then, another possibility made itself known, the one that B seemed to be guiding her towards: that the true reason L had not told her anything about his life was because he did not believe that she would help him if he did.

Lana tried her best to hide her internal conflict from B, shoving her feelings down into the farthest recesses of her mind that she could reach.

"Why do you care?" she muttered.

"I am right, then," B concluded, causing the woman to scowl heavily. "Should I tell you? You can ask anything you want. I won't hold back. At the very least, you deserve some honesty."

The scarred woman stared up at him, disbelief written plainly in her gaze. "Who are you to say what I deserve? Don't make me laugh. It stings like a bitch when I do."

"It's very characteristic of you to use humor to diffuse the situation, though I do consider it rude in this instance. My offer still stands, however. Ask me anything related to L's past."

"Like what?"

"Like why it is that I'm doing this, Lana. Everyone has a reason for doing the things that they do."

"What about the infected people?"

"Even them. Their reasons lie in their warped mindsets, inconceivable to the rest of us—even me. But that doesn't mean they aren't there."

"And I guess you're going to say that your reason for terrorizing us makes sense too, right?"

B paused, his lips pursing with momentary frustration before he lapsed back into his calm mask. "I know that you're inclined to believe that L is a pillar of justice, that he is playing the role of a selfless hero by trying to put an end to my plans. And that is exactly what he is doing—playing a role, putting on a show for both you and the others who have placed their trust in him. But did you ever bother to ask yourself _why_ I want L gone? _Why _I want to spread the virus around the world? The two are linked, and with serious thought I'm sure I can make you understand."

It was true that the dark-haired woman had thought about B's possible justification for his actions, but only briefly, and never accompanied by any suspicion of the detective's intentions and the reasons behind them. He had said that he needed to stop B, which would in turn mean saving the world. Saving the world, while a tall order, had been enough for Lana to come to the conclusion that L was right and B was wrong.

Black and white. Simple.

B had blown up Waterfront, killing numerous people in the process; he had killed others as well—she didn't even want to try to estimate a body count; he had destroyed the gates, freeing the infected people from the quarantine zones; he had burned down the radio station, severely burned Mello, and stabbed Matt. And now, he revealed that he wanted to destroy the rest of the world as well. How could he possibly justify any of it, no matter what benefits he thought there were from his actions?

"Nice try," she guffawed, "but I've seen all that you've done to me and my friends—and there's probably more where that came from. You're full of it, buddy."

He didn't seem to hear her; B appeared to be lost in his own little world, staring with sightless eyes at the wall.

"I knew L growing up," he began, "though I didn't really know him well. I know him much better now, of course, much better than you. We both grew up in the same orphanage, but he was already an independent teen by the time I arrived. But he still came back to visit every now and again—because we, all of the children there, were being groomed to one day take his place."

"His place?"

"Yes. L is a detective, Lana, but what you may not know is that he is the most famous detective in the world—the famous L, who solves the unsolvable cases with ease and genius. As his successors, we had to be geniuses as well. Only the best and brightest orphans were permitted to live in Wammy's House.

"But some of us were still more qualified than others. I was ranked second on the list, below only a boy my age called A. He was probably the closest person to me. We did a lot together—we studied, we shared a room, and we stayed up far into the night on several occasions talking about our futures—yet there was still an obvious air of competition. I wanted to be first; everyone wanted to be the one to take L's place, even if it killed them to do it. I began to think about resorting to foul play to get my way.

"As it turned out, however, there was no need for me to do anything. On a day much like any other, I walked into the second floor bathroom, and what I saw there would change my perspective forever—and, I think now, for the better."

Lana shivered at the man's shift in tone, unsure if she wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"A committed suicide," he concluded. B paused for so long that Lana began to wonder if he gotten lost inside his memories; she had done the same on many occasions.

When he didn't say anything else after a few seconds, Lana whispered, "Why?" She would be lying if she said she wasn't curious at this point, and it looked as though B had forgotten her presence.

Her words helped to snap the man out of the daze he was in, and his dark eyes refocused on her. "He wasn't prepared. A wasn't capable of handling the pressure placed on him in trying to not only become L, but to surpass him. It was stressed time and time again that we had to be better, to constantly improve our minds and deductive capabilities. In the end, A cracked. It was all too much—indeed, I believe it was too much responsibility for any of us to take on. There was—is—only one L.

"But not any more. I know now that I will be able to surpass L with no problem—because there is nothing to surpass. I know who he really is, and he is someone that anyone can be."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Lana shivered at the sensation of the knife sliding across her arm, raising the hair on her flesh as it was dragged over the unscarred skin of her abdomen.

"Do you know how it feels, Lana, to have the closest person to you—your biggest rival—take their own life before their time, only to realize that it had no purpose?" Though B was whispering, his voice steadily grew in intensity. The flesh on the back of her neck tingled with unease. "Do you know how it feels to hear the one person you had believed to be infallible and perfect destroy everything you thought you believed in?"

"What…"

"I heard L one night, while I was walking back to my room. A had already been dead for a few days, perhaps a week. I happened to accidentally overhear a conversation between L and our caretaker, Quillish Wammy. Do you know what I heard L say? The L that you—as did I, once upon a time—revere so much?"

The scarred woman stared at B with wide eyes, baffled by his drastic change in demeanor. His eyes were all but demonic, glowing with enraged excitement as he waited for her answer. She didn't say anything—she didn't need to.

"L said that it wasn't a huge setback, that it wasn't an issue that A had killed himself. A had been a prototype for his successor; he had been expected to fail from the beginning. Can you imagine that? Hearing your idol say that you, along with everyone else, were more or less disposable? L and our caretaker had known what sort of stress they were putting on us; they knew it would drive some of us to the brink of sanity, to influence us to do unspeakable things. They knew, and they didn't care, because in the end it served their purpose. They were able to weed out those who were unfit to take over L's position. The only one who was able to stand up to their trials…was _me._

"Of course, after that, nothing was ever the same. I thought to myself then that everything I had been taught was a lie—and I was right. Can't you see, Lana? Saving people isn't what L does—it's not his purpose. He just wants to preserve the world above all else, and cares little for the individuals who make it up. So long as he retains the whole cake, who cares if one piece goes missing?"

The dark-haired woman's head was aching with uncertainty. Was what B was saying true? It couldn't be—surely he must be twisting things around, because L would never be so apathetic and cruel about a child's death.

Would he?

"What kind of a world is that?" B went on. "With even L catching criminals, it's still rotten to its very core, still full of crime and murder, war and genocide, hatred…I've always been of the firm belief that if there is mold growing throughout the cake, it should be thrown away. Even if there are still fresh pieces, even if they are in more abundance than the mold, it can't be saved. It will all be tainted eventually. You might as well throw it out and speed up the process…"

Lana grunted as the knife slid into her flesh, and she bit back a reflexive laugh. Right now it would bring her nothing but trouble.

"I'll tell you what kind of world it is. It's the same one that has plagued us all for generations. L hasn't changed a thing. He only saves those whom he deems it interesting enough to save, or who will serve his purpose. How is that justified? How is that moral? How can anyone want to live in a world so blatantly not worth saving, but that is so grossly sugarcoated for our children? It's beyond my understanding."

The scarred woman could not resist the guffaw that left her lips as B dragged the blade across her skin, carving out lines in the flesh of her stomach.

"And I can tell that it's beyond yours, as well."

* * *

Lana didn't remember when she passed out; it was definitely before B finished with her, because she did not remember him stopping in his carving of her flesh. He had been so intent on his work…

Frankly, she was surprised that she hadn't just bled out. Even now, she could feel the massive amount of dried blood on her skin, and wondered at the fact that someone must really want her to live—that is, if she actually believed in God or angels. It was a tough act to buy at this point.

In her near-unconscious state, the scarred woman was still able to notice when the pressure around her wrists loosened, affording her the ability to move her hands. Startled and subdued by the anesthetic that B had given her, Lana found it difficult to even move on her own, not to mention try to make an escape. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and her fingers seemed to be frozen in their limp position.

"Come on." B's voice, weighed down by her wooziness, reached her through the haze, and a pair of strong hands pulled her to her feet. The woman stumbled, catching blurred glimpses of hallways and doors as B led her somewhere.

They stopped in front of another door, and the young woman stared at it with dull eyes.

_Am I dreaming?_

Without another word, B opened it and led her inside, closing the door so as to give her some privacy. Looking around, she deduced that she was in a bathroom. A sense of déjà vu washed over her, and she recalled that B must have taken her here before, when she was too far gone on drugs to notice.

"You should use the bathroom. Clean yourself up," the man said from the other side of the door. "Take your time."

Though she was still very drowsy, the scarred woman set to work on doing just that. (In her confusion, she had neglected to notice that she had a very full bladder.)

She peeled her shirt off, soaking it in the bucket of water B had provided so as to scrub the blood out as best she could. When the stain had been relatively washed out, and the water she squeezed out of the fabric began to run clear instead of red-orange, she moved on to her bloodied torso. Hanging her shirt on the edge of the bucket, Lana turned her attention to the jagged flesh.

But as soon as she looked in the mirror to inspect the damage, the young woman froze in shock.

There was something written there.

She grabbed a clean washcloth from the drawer beneath the sink, soaking it in old soap and dirty water before bringing it to her wounds. She hissed at the pain, but kept going, clearing away all the dried blood until the jagged scars became clear.

Her hands shook as she saw what B had written on her, and her stomach fell to her feet.

On her abdomen, in crooked lines that still seeped a modest amount of blood, the word _beyond_ stared back at her, reflected backwards in the mirror.

And, in that moment, Lana made a decision.

The doorknob jiggled, and the sound seemed to jolt her into stark awareness of her surroundings. Adrenaline began to pump through her veins, and the moment B opened the door, she did something that even surprised her.

She punched him in the face.

* * *

"I don't understand. Lana's blood looks entirely normal. From all I can observe it seems that her body has managed to produce antibodies that were able to fight off the disease, but there are no clues as to why it worked."

Soichiro sighed in frustration as he adjusted the lens of his microscope, enhancing the image and zooming in on the—in all appearances, normal—blood cells. He didn't give his daughter a chance to respond to his musings; he was mostly talking to himself, anyway.

"No one else's immune system has ever created antibodies that were able to succeed in eradicating the virus—not in my research subjects, at least. The best way I can describe the situation is that Lana's immune system has a memory of P.H.D., and was therefore able to destroy it."

"You mean that she's had the disease before? How is that possible?" Sayu's inquiry echoed Soichiro's own doubts.

"I don't know," he said, "but it's the only explanation I can think of. If she had been exposed to the virus at some point before she was bitten, and it entered her bloodstream, then her antibodies would easily have been able to identify the virus this time around and kill it—much the way someone who contracts yellow fever and survives will be immune for the rest of their lives. But, on the same token, there must have been something present in her body the first time that was able to allow her to recover. There must be a third factor in this scenario, something that I'm missing…" The man drifted off, holding his chin between two fingers as he contemplated the possibilities. If only Lana were here for him to question; she would be able to shed some light on the situation.

And then, with the force of a brick wall, he remembered.

"Sayu," he whispered, internally berating himself for forgetting something so significant. "Do you remember the anomalous sample? The one we had in the storage room that also cured itself of P.H.D.?"

The girl nodded. "Of course. We studied it but didn't find any foreign agents. Why?"

"Exactly. We didn't find any _foreign_ agents..."

Without another word, the older man darted toward the closet, his heart hammering away in his chest with excitement.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

Soichiro's eyes easily located the spot where the sample had been stored. He ran over to it, scrutinizing the shelf like a hawk searching doggedly for its prey.

_Where is it? There must be something here that I missed last time. Anything…_

His pulse sped up wildly when he found it. It was faint, and no doubt he had classified it as unimportant specks of dust when he first saw it, but right now it was the single most important thing in the world.

A pile of inconspicuous dust sat beside the area where the sample had once been, and on the shelf above it, teetering precariously over the edge, was an overturned beaker that had once contained it. He or Sayu had most likely knocked it down when they had closed the door or jostled the shelves, but the small mess had gone unnoticed until now—as did the clear label written on the beaker's side, which read, in big bold letters, _Fe._

"Oh my God…" he said, dipping his finger into the pile of powdered iron. "It can't be…"

* * *

** That last part was a little vague, though I have faith that some of you will figure it out. There were clues left throughout the story up until this point! **

** I hope you liked this chapter! Thanks for reading, and the next one will be even more crazy…**

** —Vicious Ventriloquist**


	34. For All Who Have Hope

**Author's Notes: Work is literally killing me, but I wrote this chapter for you anyway! **

**To WildfireDreams: Wait no longer. This chapter won't really answer your questions, but that's intentional. I hope you like it anyway! **

**To Shiro-Chan: Thank you :) It made me grin to read your review, and I hope this chapter lives up to your standards! **

**To Lily Resh: Haha! I feel you, but Beyond's grown on me by this point! I can't help but to like him.**

**To garnet86: I'm glad it was exciting enough for you! The next few chapters are going to be nothing but excitement, so I hope you're ready for that! Things are just getting started…**

**To RaspberryDiamonds: Thanks a lot :) Now I almost feel bad for ending the chapter the way I did…**

**To CainToYourAbel: I knew someone would catch it! I feel the same way about L. He really isn't very nice, which is probably why Lana hated him at first, lol. He's done a lot of things that I personally find morally questionable, even in the original story. You'll have to read this chapter to find out what happens next! (Though I agree—L does have a lot of explaining to do!) **

**Warnings: Violence, Profanity, Blood.**

* * *

**Chapter 34: For All Who Have Hope **

"What are you doing, sir?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Soichiro completely bypassed Aizawa as he ran from room to room, gathering all manners of tools, weapons, and supplies into a single rucksack. He ignored the bewildered cries of both the ex-police officer and his daughter, knowing that neither of them would be supportive of what he was doing.

He had to do it, though.

As he threw in several bottles of water, it finally seemed to dawn on Aizawa what the older man was doing. Just as Soichiro had thought, the man disapproved.

"Are you serious?" he exclaimed, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Sir, you can't leave! What are you thinking? It's too dangerous for you to go out there with nothing but scalpels!"

"I know the risk," Soichiro said calmly, frowning at the thought, "but I have no choice."

Sayu lingered in the doorway, her eyes widening as she came to understand what her father was trying to do. "Dad, you can't be serious! Ryuuzaki told us to stay here! You could die if you go outside, and then what will happen to the others? You're our only chance of figuring out how to save the world…not to mention that you'd be leaving _me_ behind, too..."

"Sayu," the older man said, smiling gently at his only surviving child. "We could die here as well. There is always danger. But I have a chance to do something right, and I won't let it pass me by. Besides, I'm hardly your only chance of finding a cure. You are more than capable of doing that yourself—and in any case, Lana already did."

"Wha—? Dad, wait!"

Sayu followed him as the scientist made his way back to the lab station. He rummaged through several boxes, carefully placing multiple clean syringes into his bag. On top of that, he also added the large vial of treated blood that he had concocted earlier. The amount he had packed should be more than enough for everyone.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Soichiro turned to face his daughter, holding up the leftover vial of treated blood that he had not packed. "Do you see this, Sayu?"

She nodded, but still looked panicked at the prospect of him leaving. "Yes, but—"

"I'm leaving this for you to use. I don't have too much time to explain, so I need you to trust me, okay?"

"I do trust you, but—"

"No buts. This blood is O negative, so it's safe for anyone to receive. You need to inject yourself, Aizawa, and Near with it as soon as possible—do it right after I leave. I already injected myself, so I know it's safe. You should all be fine. I only pray that it works properly."

"What are you talking about, Dad?" The young woman looked panicked and absolutely dumbfounded; he felt terrible for causing her so much stress, especially so soon after learning of her brother's death, but there was no other way. "What will injecting ourselves with O negative blood do?"

"The blood itself won't do much of anything. It's merely acting as a carrier."

"A carrier? Dad!"

Soichiro felt a wave of regret as he rushed past her, but he couldn't afford to lose his nerve now. He paused only for a moment in the doorway, turning around to face her with a sad smile on his face.

"It will keep you safe, Sayu. Promise me you'll use it."

She gaped at him, her eyes watery as he placed the vial in her hands. "I…I promise. Dad…don't leave…"

He placed a kiss on her forehead, then rushed out of the room.

"Soichiro! Wait!" He heard Aizawa storming after him, but he did not stop. There was no time to waste. "What are you trying to do?"

The older man paused as he reached the front door, glancing over his shoulder to see the police officer standing right behind him. In the background were Near and Sayu, the latter looking horrified and speechless while the white-haired boy merely appeared curious.

Soichiro hardened his features, meeting the other man's gaze with one of resolve. "I am going to help the others. They're in danger out there. With this blood I may be able to save them. There's no time to spare. Aizawa, you have to stay here and protect my daughter and Near. They need you."

Just as he turned the doorknob, Aizawa's voice rang out once more.

"You won't be able to reach them before they get there! If you go, you'll either get lost or run right into the middle of the fight. You could be killed."

The ensuing silence felt far longer than it actually was; the others seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation of his answer.

"Maybe," he said. "But the very least I can do is try to follow their tracks. I have to give it a shot, don't I?"

"Dad!"

"Soichiro!"

He didn't listen to their cries, even those of his own daughter. Soichiro threw open the door, stepping out into the glare of the morning sun. The sight of it instilled a new sense of determination in the older man, and he set out on his journey—for better or for worse.

He may not have known where he was going, but he refused to give up and stand idly by when there was something he could do to help. If he could assist Ryuuzaki and the others in any way possible, he would do so to the best of his ability. And if anything happened to him…he knew that Sayu would be fine. The others would help her, and she had all of his research available to her back at the lab. Even if he perished, she would be able to recreate the vaccine he had made.

She would be fine.

He only hoped that by the time he got to the others—if he managed to do so at all—it would not be too late. He had to try, at least—to make up for all of his past failings, even if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

The next day brought exhaustion unto them all, but they started on their traipse without complaint as soon as the sun came up. They had spent the night in an abandoned building, splayed out on the floor due to a lack of hospitable housing in the vicinity. None of that mattered to them, though. All that was on their minds at this point was finding Lana. No matter how uncomfortable they were, there was no doubt in their minds that wherever the scarred woman was, she was in far worse shape than they.

As the group continued to walk, L had to admit to himself that he was surprised. In spite of his extremely vague proclamation that he knew where B was trying to lead him, no one had bothered to ask where it was they were going. They continued on their journey in relative silence, the only sounds being their increasingly labored breath as the sun rose higher in the sky.

The others seemed content to simply listen to him and take him at his word. Even Mello, the pigheaded man that he was, and Misa, being overly curious, did not raise their voices in complaint or question. In addition, the detective was bewildered by the fact that none of them had inquired about the nature of B's message, or the personal meaning behind it. They must have realized that L was not a normal name—surely some of them must have heard of him before—and that Ryuuzaki was, by default, an alias. It seemed ludicrous to suggest that they harbored no curiosity about what B was referring to in his message when he told him to go "where it all began." He had told them nothing substantial about his life, including the series of mistakes he had made when he was younger that led to B's descent into madness and self-destruction.

Yet no one had voiced any confusion or suspicion regarding that fact, nor did it seem that they planned to. It was almost as though they thought it to be irrelevant, a feeling that L could not hope to comprehend. He wanted to know everything about a case and about the people he involved himself with—how could these people, who had agreed to help him and Lana at the possible cost of their own lives, not want the same?

He couldn't understand it. It was so far out of his comfort zone, so beyond anything that he had ever experienced. L idly wondered if they trusted him enough to not question his conclusions. Surely they couldn't, not with the brief amount of time they had known each other. The detective had a tenuous grasp on what constituted polite behavior and the way he was perceived by others, but he was sure that at the very least most people considered him a suspicious character. It showed in the way people stared at him back home, on the very rare occasions that he had gone outside.

Yet here he was, walking with a group of people who seemed to have utmost faith in him. They trusted him, as did the woman who was currently being victimized by his previous successor.

For the first time in his life, L felt almost…normal. And at the same time, he had never felt more exposed.

"Excuse me," he said, not turning around to face them. He kept his gaze straight ahead. "I wish to clarify something with all of you." He felt six pairs of eyes focused on his hunched back, and, to his surprise, the shaggy-haired man suddenly felt self-conscious.

"What?" Mogi said, echoing everyone else's confusion.

L raised his eyes toward the sky, taking one last moment to wonder if this was really a good idea. "Some of you may have noticed that in the message B left, he referred to me as 'L,' rather than Ryuuzaki."

"…Yeah," Mello said, a wary tone in his voice. "That was just a joke, right? Or a figure of speech? I mean, L is the most famous detective in the world…"

"So I've heard," L responded, not without a bit of irony. "Unfortunately, it was not a joke. Or, I suppose you would say that it _is_ fortunate, because that means I am here to help you."

"What are you saying?" Matsuda said, disbelief plain in his voice. "You can't mean that—that you're…"

"I know it may sound strange, or even impossible, but it is true. I am L. I volunteered to come here against the wishes of the current officials of the U.N. in order to stop B. There are those who would sit back and allow the world to be destroyed. They are shortsighted and apathetic. I am not one of those people."

No one else said a thing; all of them were probably caught up in or put off by the revelation. Sensing this, L tried to soften the blow. "I am sorry for deceiving all of you for this long. It may seem rash or distrustful, but it was necessary. As you can probably tell, 'Ryuuzaki' is an alias. Please forgive me. I see no reason to lie anymore, given the fact that if B confronted us he would almost certainly let slip that I am L, as he already has in his message. I deduced that it would be better for you all to hear it from me than him, as it would most likely only erode your trust in me if you were to learn my identity from another source."

His speech was similarly received, with not a single vocalized response coming from any of the others. L wondered if he had only alienated them with his unexpected admission. Even so, he reasoned that it was necessary. It was far better to get it out in the open now, so that they could avoid any awkward confrontations later.

A few moments later, he heard a sigh. "I knew it," Matt said, sounding surprisingly calm given the circumstances. L had expected him to be more excited about the revelation given that the first time the brunette had accused him of being L he had refused to answer. "Well, you already knew that, though. I pretty much screamed it at you, didn't I?"

The detective nodded. "Yes, you did. You were under a great deal of stress at the time, however, so you should not worry about it."

"I wasn't."

"So that's what you were talking about," Itzel said to Matt. "I thought you were just talking nonsense. So ya really are L, huh? Sorry I'm not more enthusiastic, but I must've only heard that name once in my life. Seems like somethin' you should've told us a while ago, though."

"Yes, and I apologize once again. I understand your concern. I am unaccustomed to letting people know my identity and did not wish to attract any more attention to myself. I did not think anyone would believe me, in any case."

"Why would you lie about that?" Misa chimed in. "It's like, so cool! You're almost a celebrity, just like me! And you're really smart, too—everyone probably would've trusted you more! Of course we believe you! Right, Mello?"

The blonde man had been silent thus far, and he didn't respond to Misa's inquiry. L turned around to see what was wrong. The young man appeared to be speechless, and his eyes widened upon meeting the detective's gaze.

"Are you serious?" he whispered. L nodded, and the other man swallowed heavily.

"What, blondie, are ya a fan or something?"

"Yeah. L was his idol growing up."

"Shut the fuck up, Matt!"

"Wait a second…" Itzel whispered, her voice nearly lost amidst the growing tension between the two men. L heard it, though, and he raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

"Please calm down!" Matsuda stuttered.

"Yeah, guys. Be quiet fer a—"

"You shouldn't hit someone who's already injured, Mello…"

"For the love of—"

"I'm injured too, dipshit."

"Everybody _shut up_!"

Everyone went silent at the sound of Itzel's booming voice, and even L flinched a bit at the sheer force of her tone. She could be quite intimidating when she so chose, in spite of her friendly nature.

"What is it?" Matt asked.

"I know where we're going. Ryuuzaki—"

"Call me L, if you like. I see no reason why you should keep calling me by my alias."

"L, then. Are you sure that's what B was talking about in his message?"

The detective nodded; he was relieved that at least someone had noticed the familiar route they were taking. He didn't blame Matt or Mello for not noticing, seeing as they had most likely never been there. "I am certain. Of course, it will likely be far more dangerous now with all of the structural damage, though I am admittedly unsure of whether or not he meant the message literally."

"No shit. I never thought I'd go back there by choice. Talk about unexpected."

"What are you guys talking about?" Matt asked, glancing from L to Itzel in confusion. His eyes stayed focused on the large woman. "You know where he's taking us?"

Itzel nodded. "Course I do. I only lived there for seven damn years. Can't believe I'm the first one who noticed—I'm lookin' at you, Mogi."

Misa gasped, her expression worried for perhaps the first time since starting their journey. "You mean that guy's leading us back to Waterfront? Why? I thought it burned all the way down!"

"We haven't been back there at all since," Itzel said. "We don't know whether it collapsed or not. It could just be a skeleton by now."

"She is correct," the shaggy-haired man confirmed. "Waterfront could have collapsed, but if it had, B would most likely still lead us there. He might be keeping himself and Lana holed up in another building near it, or, if it is still standing, he could even have found shelter in the remains. If he is not in the building itself, then he most likely left another clue for us to figure out which one it is…but just in case he did not, we have to be prepared for him to try to catch us off guard.

"However, we know for a fact that Waterfront is where the chase began. B blew up the building to either kill me or test me, so it only makes sense that he would want to lead me back there. He probably thinks of it as being poetic justice—he did not kill me last time, but this time will be different."

"…Well, that's a better theory than I would have come up with," Mogi said, his jaw stiff. "I don't think I've ever been in this part of town before—how much longer do you think it will take to get there?"

L glanced towards the sky, noting from the sun that it was only two hours past noon. If they continued on at this pace, then it would not take them much longer at all. It would take them approximately…

"Fifteen minutes," he said. "Twenty at the most, given Matt's handicap. The sun will not set for at least four more hours, so we should have plenty of time to find them, stop B, and retrieve Lana before it becomes unsafe. I would prefer not to have to carry out this plan in the dark. It will be far more dangerous."

L looked over their faces, noting the world-weary gazes of them all—except for Matsuda and Misa, miraculously. Those two truly were an anomaly.

"Some of you may die today," he reminded them. "I will do my best to ensure that this does not happen, but I will make no promises. If all goes as planned, B will be subdued and Lana will be safe—yet there is no surefire way of telling what dangers may lie ahead, including the possibility of being attacked by the infected. Are you ready?"

No one responded, but L could tell merely by their expressions that they were. No words were needed for him to see their determination. In fact, he was sure that he felt much the same as they. For once, he was united in solidarity with others—and for the first time, the detective believed that he understood what it meant to risk one's life for the sake of another's. There was something almost…poetic about it, in a sense—not because it was enjoyable or exciting, but because of what it symbolized, what it revealed about the person making the sacrifice. He had never felt something so profound before in any of the cases he had solved.

Not that he would ever admit that, of course.

* * *

Her punch caught B off guard, surprising the man just as much as it did her. In the back of her mind, the dark-haired woman remembered telling herself to be rational, to remain calm, but at the moment she really couldn't give two shits.

She was pissed off, and the part of her that was in control of her body was also the part of her that wanted to do something about it. She had never been good at sitting still while someone made a fool out of her, anyway. It had gotten her in trouble on multiple occasions, though it was safe to say that this time would have far worse consequences than a trip to either the principal's office _or_ the hospital; at least before, she had health insurance.

Lana relished the sound of her knuckles meeting B's nose and cheekbone. Even through the dull pain that accompanied the punch, it felt amazingly _good_ to hit him after she had spent so long unable to do anything but bow down to his psychotic whims. No matter the consequences, it felt surreal for her to be able to fight someone again, even if said someone was a serial killer bent on bringing the entire world to a crumbling halt.

So good, in fact, that as her clenched fist made contact with his face, she grinned devilishly at him.

_Take that, asshole. _

The force of her hit caused B to stumble backwards a few steps, and Lana found herself a bit disappointed at the appalling lack of reaction. She had driven many people to run away with one of her punches, though she supposed B was nothing like those shit-talking cowards she used to know. And, she realized, both inactivity and the drugs that were still in her system had no doubt weakened her significantly. Even so, she refused to pass up an opportunity to escape from the man who had been holding her hostage.

B righted himself almost immediately, but Lana dove for him straight away. She didn't want to give him an opening to retaliate. But she was too hasty; her form was sloppy, and her sedated state posed an issue in the form of her sluggish movements and clumsy limbs. The serial killer completely bypassed her next hit, stepping to the right and backing away from her flailing fist as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Lana inwardly cursed her body's ineptitude. _Come on, work, you stupid fucking limbs! Stop being so goddamn clumsy! I have to kill him! I can't afford to be passing out right now…_

"You should calm down, Lana," B advised her, his voice calm and soothing in direct contrast to his menacing aura. "What you are doing is foolish. You aren't even wearing a shirt."

It was true, but the young woman could barely feel the draft on her exposed skin. The bra was more than enough to keep her warm when added to her current rush of adrenaline. "Bite me," she hissed, glaring fiercely at the shaggy-haired man.

"How do you plan on getting out of here when you don't even know the way to go?"

"I'll figure it out. Shut the fuck up."

B stared back at her, his eyes intensely scrutinizing her face for any signs of…whatever it was he was looking for. She couldn't tell, and at this point she couldn't begin to guess—nor did she care. All she wanted was to kill him and get the hell out of here, in no particular order; the prospect of escape was becoming more appealing by the minute, however.

"If you wish," he said.

Lana barely managed to avoid his attack, dodging to the left just as his fist connected with the space where her head had been a moment prior. The woman coughed as a blow landed on her back, but she turned her fall into a front roll, biting her cheek as dizziness turned to nausea. She forced herself back to her feet, spinning around to dive for B once more.

She wouldn't give up so easily.

Her unprecedented speed must have shocked him, because he stared with wide eyes as her knee met his stomach, and he coughed harshly. But when she tried to pull away, his hand flew up to grip her wrist, and he held on tightly as she attempted to separate herself from him. A punch too fast for her to see in her disheveled state made her see stars, and she released a choking sound as another hand gripped her throat.

His heavy breathing drew her eyes upwards, and when Lana met B's eyes, a chill ran through her. His orbs were deadly, lit up with ferocious flames that alluded to his anger. He glared at her with wrath that for a moment caused even her to pause in her tracks, though his gaze went back to normal after a few seconds.

"That was clever," he said, "but not nearly good enough."

"Fuck off," the dark-haired woman spit. "I'm ambidextrous."

His eyes widened just as she struck a blow with her unoccupied fist, the hit possessing the same force—if not more—than her right. Her knuckles clipped him in the jaw, and Lana took the opportunity to wrestle out of his strangling grip.

_There_, she thought confidently. _That should distract him for a second. Now all I have to do is…_

In the split second it took for B to recover from her well-placed punch, Lana's body betrayed her. The dizziness and nausea had been there throughout the fight, lingering in the back of her mind since she had first woken up earlier, but the aversive sensations suddenly became stronger. She backed away from the serial killer, her body subconsciously putting as much distance between herself and him as possible.

_What's going on? What's happening to me_…?

Perhaps it was due to being choked for more than a few seconds, or it could have merely been an unfortunate side effect of the onslaught of physical exertion she had thrust upon her recovering body. Blood loss was no laughing matter, regardless of how much she had done so during B's torture session. It was bound to have an effect sooner or later…

Either way, the scarred woman could only think one thing as she stumbled backwards, her back hitting the wall with a hollow thud.

_Fuck._

"Is there something wrong, Lana?" B's voice reached her through the fog of panic, but she just snarled at him in response. The shaggy-haired man tilted his head sideways, his eyes boring into her at a new angle that to him, must have offered a radically interesting perspective from which to watch her suffer. "You look quite pale. I'm not surprised, though I suppose I should have warned you sooner. It won't do you any good to fight me while the anesthetic is in your system. I would think that this is obvious, though I guess I'll forgive the mishap this time. I only injected you a bit before you woke up; it hasn't gotten a chance to fully work its way through your system yet. You're helping to move it along, though—doing anything too strenuous on your body will make your heart beat faster, thereby speeding up the spread of the anesthetic through your blood."

_Cocky bastard_. "You…you only let me out so you could play another one of your games…" She didn't phrase it as a question; she didn't need to.

The answer was obvious.

"Don't blame me for this. It was you who made the decision to try to escape. While I admittedly thought it would be interesting to see how you would handle a potential escape scenario, your reaction was more interesting than I thought it would be. Even when you could have run away, you chose to stay and fight, despite the fact that there's no way you could win. It's very…you. Anyway, despite you being sedated, I have to say that your punches hurt a lot…"

And at that moment, when she caught a glimpse of the pure, sadistic gleam in B's eye, Lana came to understand that right now, she was well and truly fucked.

But that didn't mean she was going to give up. Despite B's taunting of her decision to fight, doing so was in her nature. She possessed a strong survival instinct and a sense of self-preservation, but something in her was saying that even if she did manage to escape this time—an outcome that was damn near impossible—she would be in just as much danger as before.

And anyway…she refused to let someone take her down to easily. It was a matter of pride, now.

So when B dove for her, she did the only thing she could think of doing.

She met him head-on.

In her state, the scarred woman didn't hold out much hope of winning. Indeed, B overpowered her with relative ease, grabbing her around the throat again and slamming her into the wall. Lana saw stars, her vision peppering with tiny black dots as the back of her skull hit the plaster. She bent her knee in retaliation, and the heel of her foot made contact with B's stomach.

_Thank God I'm still flexible. _

The man coughed, his grip on her throat tightening as Lana rained blows on his face. She cursed, her voice ragged and filled with frustration as none of the hits seemed to make a bit of difference.

_Is this guy made of fucking stone, or something? _

In her addled state of mind, the dark-haired woman made a snap decision. Her hands reached up, wrapping around his elbow and pushing as hard as she could against him. Really, there wasn't much she could do; it was taking all her willpower just to stand. His grip on her throat loosened slightly, but Lana barely managed to dodge the punch he threw at her face.

In the confusion, she made her escape, diving towards the floor and whipping around to stand behind B. She stood up, intent on getting her own hands around his throat—

—and took an elbow straight to the face.

Blood spurted out of her nose immediately, a burning pain accompanying it. The scarred woman's head snapped backwards, and, unable to balance her own weight, she toppled straight towards the floor.

But she never landed. Instead, her fall was stopped by someone else, a pair of arms wrapping around her and a person's chest cushioning her back.

_What the hell? _

"I commend your effort," B said from above her, his upside-down silhouette hazy through the blood that had landed in her eyes, "but I'm afraid it failed."

Lana squirmed against him, eager to get as far away from the serial killer as possible. It turned into an all-out wrestling match, with her desperately kicking and biting at B with all the draining energy she had left.

And still, it wasn't enough, because no matter how hard she tried, she knew that all the cards were stacked against her. It didn't take long for him to pin her to the ground, his hips straddling hers and hands holding her wrists in place. The young woman glared up at him with all the hatred she could muster, furious both at him and at herself for being so helpless. Even thinking of that word stung her pride.

"Bastard…" she mumbled.

"You've said that already. I know what you think of me, Lana. And I understand. But tell me, is there any particular reason why you decided to escape now? I know it's because the opportunity presented itself, right? But is there more to it than that? You seem especially hostile right now."

The young woman balked at him, and practically screamed her answer. "Are you fucking kidding me?! _You carved your name into my stomach!"_

Realization lit up in the man's eyes. "Ah, yes. That. It seemed fitting for me to do it, don't you think?"

"_How_?!"

B sighed, his grip on her wrists loosening. "You may not believe it, but it was for your own good. My name will forever remain with you, until the moment of your death. I wanted you to see it, and I wanted to see your reaction, because it will serve as a constant reminder of L—of what he did to others, and of what he created. Me. You will never see him the same way again. That's what I wanted to show you…"

And, in a single, surreal moment of clarity, Lana realized that B was right. After everything that had happened…everything he had told her about L and his past, even if none of it were true…it would still stay with her. Her memories of her time in this place, even if she were to die five minutes from now, would be with her until that time.

She would never see him the same way again—ever. His past would always be there, clawing at the back of her mind; she would always wonder about his true intentions, about what was lying hidden beneath his harmless exterior.

But even so, with more clarity than what had initially led her to this conclusion, Lana found that she didn't care. She much preferred being with L, with all of his flaws, than staying with _this_ twisted fuck for one more second.

She thought about it—_was_ she angry with the detective? She was definitely confused, and the lingering notion that he might not even care about her stung, but no matter how illogical it seemed, she couldn't bring herself to hate him.

Because she didn't hate him. She was in love with him, and she knew very well that those two emotions oftentimes overlapped. If she ever got out of here, she would still ask him about it, but his answer would not change the fact that over the course of the last few months, L had become one of the most important people in her life.

"You're right," she whispered, pausing in her futile struggle. "I won't forget what happened here or what you told me, but that doesn't change how I feel about him."

Lana tensed when she saw B slide her switchblade out of his pocket, not overly eager to see what he would do with it given his menacing aura.

"So you won't admit it, then?" he asked. "You won't acknowledge that he's a selfish, egotistical genius who uses others for his own gain?"

The scarred woman frowned. "I could say that, if you want, and it might even be true, but I don't believe it. I've held grudges against people for so long, and all it's done is fuck me up worse than I already was. I won't make the same mistakes again. L isn't perfect, but neither am I—and neither are you, though I think…I think I might understand where you're coming from now."

"…What do you mean?"

"You feel betrayed. The person you trusted the most turned his back on you. It doesn't feel good, does it? The anger you must feel…I know exactly what it feels like, too…"

The blade drifted closer to her face, but Lana kept talking, plowing ahead with her speech despite the danger of doing so.

"I know he's made mistakes, that L might not even be a good person, and if half of what you said about him is true, then I think I hardly made an impression. I'm not that great of a person, either, and I can't hold a candle to him, but…" B gaped at her when, in the midst of her monologue, the dark-haired woman actually smiled—not a masochistic smile, as he had expected, but a genuinely fond grin that lit up with her honesty and the sheen of sorrow in her dark eye. "…that doesn't matter to me. I still care about him. I still love him."

"I see…" B whispered, brandishing the point of the switchblade above her eye. "Thank you for trying to understand, Lana. I'm grateful for it. That's more than anyone else has ever done for me. But you still love him, and in that case…perhaps it's best if you don't see him at all."

_What is he talking about? _

A spike of fear went through her when she realized what B was doing. He pointed the blade directly at her functioning eye, and the knife's surroundings went blurry as she focused in on it.

"B…" she said, unable to think of anything that would dissuade him. Her heart pounded, and for the first time since waking up here, Lana felt real, profound fear; it paralyzed her, hindering her movements with the notion that there was no way for her to escape.

"If you want to keep your sight, then admit it."

And then, everything changed. All of a sudden, Lana was no longer afraid. B's voice had pulled her away from reality, had given her a clear choice, and she knew exactly what her answer would be.

She refused to betray L.

She closed her eyes, and for one last time, she smiled.

Distantly, she heard the sounds of scratching issuing from below, as though someone on a floor beneath them was trying to get in. Her heart began to slow, stopping almost entirely at the spark of hope that told her someone was finally here. Her eyes snapped open, locking on B's face; he appeared to be distracted too; his head perked up at the noise. The switchblade drew away from her eye, and Lana allowed herself to relax a bit at the relatively safe proximity.

"Hmmm…" B hummed. "It appears someone's here."

The man smiled, and before she could say another word, he plunged the knife downward.

* * *

**Dun dun dun. **

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	35. Savior

**Author's Note: Sorry to say this, but the next update is going to be a bit later than usual. I've been traveling, and will continue to do so for a few days, so I won't have time to type it all out as fast as I could. **

** To WildfireDreams: I agree, but there is still more for B to do! :)**

** To version15: It's fine. Review whenever you want :) And thank you. I try to balance the fanfiction world with my regular life, and it's a bit difficult sometimes. I think you all know what I mean! I'm sorry about the cliffhanger, though! I'm surprised it made you fly into an all-caps rage! I hope you like this chapter!**

** To RaspberryDiamonds: It is cruel, isn't it? :( I'm glad you're well again! Thanks for the review :)**

** To Manic x: I'm sorry you're ill. I hope you feel better soon :) I'm glad you liked this chapter, and thank you for the compliments to my writing! **

** To garnet86: Yeah, I feel like I keep trying to upstage myself with cliffhangers every chapter! Sorry :) And I'm glad you like the interaction between Lana and B, because he is one of the most misunderstood characters. I wanted him to be able to express himself more so that the audience would know what's up with him. Thank you! **

** Warnings: Violence, Blood, Mild profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 35: Savior**

The building, as far as structural integrity went, was in much better shape than he had imagined. It had managed to hold up surprisingly well after the fire, especially considering its vast size and weight.

This wasn't saying a lot, however; L had expected Waterfront to collapse entirely, so the fact that it remained standing alluded to nothing about its aesthetic appearance. While it had not been completely decimated, leaving behind nothing but an indistinguishable pile of rubble and part of the sign, it certainly wasn't habitable. The casino looked much worse for wear than it had before.

As Itzel had hypothesized earlier, what remained besides the foundation was little more than a skeleton. The walls had partially crumbled away, as had entire sections of the roof, leaving small piles of dust and broken infrastructure on all sides of the once-proud building. The large, flashy sign was covered in several layers of dust, and was lying cracked on the ground where the front doors used to be—L figured that they had been completely turned to ash. The building was all but see-through, what with how many holes there were in the plaster; the fire had eaten its way through what looked like every room, and frankly, L was more shocked by the fact that the building hadn't caved in by now than by the extent of the damage.

Structural integrity, indeed. This building had far exceeded both its lifetime and its ability to remain standing in the face of destructive forces. The detective silently commended the architect who had designed it. Even so, there was no way that someone could be living in it; he knew without a doubt that B could not be hiding inside. It would be impossible to shield himself from prying eyes, not to mention get inside in the first place. L could see from where he stood that sections of the staircase had collapsed as well.

Another way he could tell that the serial killer wasn't there was from the highly visible message that had been scrawled on a portion of one of the still-standing walls. A freshly deceased body was lying beside it; this time it was a blonde woman, and her corpse was arranged in the same manner as the one from earlier.

With a mental shiver, L listened as Mello read the message out loud.

"'You made it…have you learned your lesson yet, L? …Class is starting. Don't be late.'"

The detective's eyes widened, and this time a different memory, one that was perhaps more poignant because of its mundane nature, surfaced in his mind. It was one he recalled quite clearly from a few years ago, because it marked the day that he had started to pay more attention to B. It was only a month or two after A's death, and he had caught the younger boy skipping class at the orphanage.

* * *

_L approached the huddled figure quietly, hoping not to alert the boy to his presence. B sat in the courtyard, idly picking at the grass. He didn't seem to be doing much of anything; if the detective had to guess, he would say that B was lost in thought. It shouldn't be a surprise to him, given the events as of late, but it was still quite shocking to see the previously studious boy acting so nonchalant about class. _

"_What are you doing out here, B?" he asked, his tone curious. "Have you finished your lessons for today?" It was a redundant question since he already knew the answer, but he was interested to see if the boy would try to lie to him. _

_B shrugged, apparently carefree enough to completely disregard the questioning of his idol. "I already learned it. I don't need to go." _

_The boy's voice was cold, practically dead, and though he didn't want to admit it at the time, it unnerved him. "Yes, you do. It is important for you to get an education, B. Now please go. Class is starting. Don't be late."_

* * *

He snapped out of the flashback rather quickly this time, and turned to face Itzel with a pensive expression. "Itzel, tell me—is there a school around here?"

The Hispanic woman looked taken aback by his bizarre line of questioning, but it seemed to dawn on her seconds later what he meant. "Uh, yeah. There's one just down the street, actually, across from the old reservoir. Santa Maria High School, I think."

He nodded. "Let's go, then."

The group got there as fast as they could, their paranoia getting the better of them now that they knew B was so close. Upon reaching the building Itzel had designated, L frowned. He should have expected B to make this difficult, but at the same time he felt annoyance he was also grateful for the serial killer's choice in setting.

Santa Maria High School was considerably large, though the detective supposed he was not a reliable judge considering he had never attended secondary school back in England—or anywhere, for that matter. He had seen and been on college campuses, but the ones he had seen were composed of a series of buildings, none of which had been as big as this school was. It was easily four stories, with a tall fence encasing the courtyard and parking lot behind it. The front doors were accessible, though most likely locked. None of the windows were boarded up either, a fact that L personally found strange. He couldn't fathom that someone had not tried to seek shelter in the school at one point and blocked off the windows; had B discarded all of the barriers others had put up? Only he would do something so contradictory to common sense, though L supposed he had to have a reason for doing it. The only conceivable reason he could think of was that B wanted to tempt him to come closer. The serial killer was leaving himself exposed on purpose, in order to lure him in as close as possible.

This was fine, though it was a bit more extreme than what L had expected. Did B plan on killing him as soon as he stepped inside? Did he want to talk to him first? L could not imagine that the other man would want to take him out without first rubbing the fact in his face.

"Ryuu—uh, I mean, L? Excuse me." Matsuda said from behind him, the sound of shuffling feet accompanying his question. "Sorry, but…now that we're here, what do you want us to do? B's in there, right?"

The detective nodded, biting down on the nail of his thumb vigorously. "Yes, he is, if the latest message he left for me is any indication. I should not be surprised that he chose the school as his location, given our past history. With any luck, Lana is in there, too."

"How do you know?" Matt asked him, his voice tinged with worry. "How do you know he hasn't…you know, killed her already?"

L turned to look at the brunette, his face a mask of indifference as he said, "Because if he had, we would have found her body already."

Matt paled at the thought, but didn't say anything else about the subject.

"So now what?" Mello asked, the rising pitch of his voice betraying his impatience. "Do we beat the door down? What's your plan? I don't think we should be drawing any attention to ourselves."

"You are correct—in a sense," L responded, craning his neck over to stare at the others. "As I said before, I already have a general plan. But seeing the layout of the building, I now know exactly what we are going to do. Misa, Matsuda, you two will be working together."

"All right!"

"What?"

L pointed lazily at the two of them. "I want you two to go right up to the front doors and start banging on them. Kick them, hit them, scratch them—do whatever you want, but be sure that you make a lot of noise. At least enough to gain B's attention. Do this at every available entrance: the doors, the gates, and the fences. Switch your positions every minute or so, but do not separate from each other. The noise you make has to be coming from the same place. Do you understand?"

Though they both nodded at him, Matsuda paled as L explained the plan. "Um, okay…should I even bother asking why?"

"You two will be serving as the distraction. Do not start until I tell you to." Glancing back at the building, L surveyed its structure once more. Of all the windows he could see from this distance, one stood out to him: it was a second-story window, one that was positioned so as to face the alley beside it. Just as well, there was a large dumpster sitting right below it.

_Perfect. _

"You three," the detective gestured to Mogi, Matt, and Itzel, "will stay outside. Itzel and Mogi will block all the potential exits and entrances on the first floor. If there is anything sitting below a second-story or higher window that would allow someone to jump to safety, I want you to move it. Make sure that if someone does try to jump out, they will be injured or slowed down, with the exception of one window. Do you see that second-story window that is facing the alley? The one with the dumpster right below it?"

Both Itzel and Mogi nodded.

"Once you are done blocking all the exits and entrances, you will return there. This is where you two, along with Matt, will be stationed for the entirety of the plan. I want you three to stay there and monitor it. Matt, can you figure out a way to close the window manually if need be, without having to climb the wall?"

The brunette bit his lip, his green eyes casting a glance at Itzel's fanny pack. "Maybe. Is that why you had Itzel bring all that extra copper wire I didn't use for your communicator?"

"Yes. It was just in case we ran into this type of situation, one where a large building was involved."

Matt sighed. "I'll try my best." His eyes drifted back to the window, his brain already going a mile a minute as he took the pack from the Hispanic woman.

Finally, L turned to Mello. "You will come with me. We will climb inside the building through the second-story window that Matt is going to modify. Do you think you will be able to attach anything he needs to the window?"

The blonde crossed his arms, casting a sideways glance at the brunette. "Can I, Matt?"

"If it's just wire, I don't see why not. But is your arm going to be okay?"

L frowned. "If you cannot do it, then I will try."

Mello glared at the ground. "No. I can do it. I'll be fine," he said confidently.

The detective nodded. "Okay, then. Everyone get in position. Matsuda and Matt, you both have a walkie-talkie, correct?"

The two men nodded, the former looking partially relieved when he remembered that he wouldn't be completely on his own.

"Excellent. Call me or one of the others if something goes wrong, and we will do the same for you. Once I get inside, try to refrain from doing so if at all possible. Communicate only with each other unless it is something that directly concerns me or B."

With that, they separated into two groups; Matsuda and Misa headed towards the front doors, while L and all the others made for the alley he had indicated. Mogi and Itzel quickly split off, heading down the alley and around the building so as to check for any openings. He watched them for a minute as they blocked the other doors and first-story windows with whatever they could find: other dumpsters and trashcans, as well as discarded pieces of boards and furniture.

When they disappeared around the corner, L looked back at Matt. The other man had already begun unraveling the wire.

"I think I can do it, provided the window's unlocked," he told the detective. "You'd better hope it is. This dumpster should be enough to let you two reach the window's height, and there're some chunks of brick missing in the wall that you can use as hand or footholds."

L nodded. "I see. And do not worry; the window is unlocked."

"How do you know?"

"B wants me to find him, remember? We are playing right into his hands."

Though Matt was clearly disconcerted by this statement, he continued bending the wire as instructed, creating a makeshift metal hook that could be wrapped around the window's ledge. "Here," he said, handing it to Mello. "You can hook this into the window. If you guys call and tell me to close it, I can just pull on the wire. That should do the trick. About that, though…" Matt turned to look at L, his eyes full of concern that he had not previously shown for the detective. "Why do you want me to be able to close the window? That's your only escape route once Itzel and Mogi are done blocking all the openings. What are you planning?"

L stared back at the brunette, not intimidated in the slightest by his line of questioning. There was nothing anyone could say at this point that would be able to stop him. As he had said before, carrying through with this plan put all of them in danger, but it had to be done. He refused to be daunted by the road ahead. "It is so that B cannot get out. I said in front of the others that it was a precaution, but I assumed that you would question me about it. I want you to close the window as soon as Mello and I get inside. No matter how Mogi or Itzel object, do not let them open it again. Can you do that?"

Matt frowned deeply, but nodded. "That's what I figured…I can't say I'm surprised. This is your idea, after all. I'll do it…and I'm sure you know that this also means you, Mello, and Lana won't be able to get out, either. Are you okay with this, dude?" His last question was addressed to the blonde man, who shrugged nonchalantly. "L?"

"I am aware, of course," the detective said. "It is a necessary sacrifice. In order to trap B and outmaneuver him we cannot allow anyone either in or out once we go inside. This includes Lana, unfortunately. None of us will leave the building until we are sure that B is subdued. I will call both you three and Matsuda if everything works out."

"By subdued, do you mean dead?" Mello asked curiously.

L paused for a moment, then shrugged. "If it comes to that, then yes. I give you full permission to kill him if you are in danger, Mello."

The blonde nodded.

From around the corner, both Itzel and Mogi reappeared. "We're all done," the woman said as they approached the trio. "Matsuda and Misa are ready too."

The detective nodded, pulling out his walkie-talkie and holding down the talk button. "Matsuda? Can you hear me?"

From the other end of the transceiver, they could hear the young man's voice amidst the static. "_Yeah…are you guys ready_?" He sounded nervous, and L frankly could not blame him. Purposely attracting the attention of a serial killer would be enough to give anyone pause; if all went as planned, neither he nor Misa would have any reason to worry, however.

"Yes. You two should start now. This warning is for you as well as the others: if Mello and I do not contact you within thirty minutes, you should all leave. Do I make myself clear?"

"…_Yeah. Okay_."

With that, the transmission cut off, and a few seconds later the loud noises of relentless banging sounded from the other side of the building.

"Let's go, Mello," L said, using both arms to heft his gangly body onto the dumpster. He was able to reach the window's latch with no problem, and slid it open slowly so as not to make any unneeded noise. Mello was behind him only seconds later, the metal hook already in his hand.

Just as L slid half of his body through the window, he heard something that made him freeze in shock and horror. An overtly feminine scream reached his ears, the sound full of anguish that he could barely imagine, let alone comprehend. It echoed through the entire building, though the detective was still able to pinpoint the source; it was coming from a higher level, most likely the fourth floor, judging by the apparent distance.

And, he realized as ice water shot through his veins, the voice sounded eerily similar to Lana's. He thought _similar_ only for one reason: because in all of his time with her, L had never heard the scarred woman make such a deranged cry.

"Lana," Mello whispered from behind him, practically hissing her name in fury. "She's still alive…what's that bastard doing to her?"

Though L hardly trusted himself to speak, he did manage to choke out a few words. "I do not know…but try to stay calm, Mello. We cannot afford to lose our composure." It was highly ironic—or at least the detective found it to be—that he was lecturing the blonde man on self-control when he was close to losing his own. It was excruciating to do so, but L forced his body to stay still rather than plowing straight through the window like he wanted to.

_I have to stay calm_, he thought to himself. _Losing control will only ruin the plan and get her in more trouble. B heard Matsuda and Misa, and is only trying to lure me out into the open. He wants me to come after him to save her. I have to trust that B will not kill her yet…I have to trust that she is strong enough to handle whatever he does to her. I must stay calm…I must keep my composure in order to solve this case…_

…_in order to save her, as well._

It was far easier said than done, but after a few seconds of contemplation L was more or less able to regain his calm aura. Yes, Lana would be fine. He could still hear her whimpers and hisses of pain in the distance, so he knew that whatever B did to her was not deadly—at least not yet. He could do this; they both could. Lana was strong enough to handle herself; after all, she had managed to best him in a fight the first time he had met her.

_Hold on, Lana. Just wait for a bit longer. Mello and I will be there soon_.

* * *

Above all else, Lana was well acquainted with pain. It was and had been a part of her daily life even before the first wave of the virus spread across the continent; her favored pastime was evidence of that. She grew to welcome every punch and kick, every miniscule fracture of her knuckles and jaw. After a while, even the phantom pain in her eye was commonplace.

But this…this was excruciating. As B sank her own knife into her eye, she could barely stomach the agony. It was strange, she thought, how this could be so much more painful the second time. She could not tell with any certainty, but it felt as though he had plunged the blade in fairly deep, far deeper than what her mother had done several years ago.

So, even though she tried not to, she screamed. She could not help it; it hurt that badly, and the dark-haired woman knew that she would be hard-pressed to find anyone who was able to withstand this torment without complaint. On reflex, her hands flew up to cup her damaged organ, but were stopped short by the protruding blade. To her brief shock Lana realized that B was no longer restraining her. In fact, she could not feel his presence near her at all. It was unnerving to say the least, especially considering that her vision was blocked at the moment.

_Where is he? _

Her question was answered abruptly when someone unseen pulled her to her feet. The woman growled, cursing as she put too much pressure on her toes—she dimly recognized that she was barefoot—and blindly lashed out at her attacker. Her knuckles met soft flesh with an audible _thwack_. B released her for a second, but gave her no time to run away as he proceeded to plant his foot straight on her lower back. With a heavy shove, the scarred woman sprawled on the floor. Her chin met the linoleum with enough to force to rattle her skull and cause her to bite down on her tongue, and she hissed through the additional pain. The knife in her eye was fondled by the fall, and new waves of pain lanced through it.

But before she could get up, B was on her again. He dragged her to her feet once more, and began hauling her down the hallway. Her world was hopelessly confused by her lack of sight. All she could see through her right eye as she was dragged were fuzzy gray blobs, but Lana was still fairly confident that B was taking her back the way they had come, back to the old room. What he would do with her there, she had no idea—nor did she want to find out. The serial killer seemed especially daunting now that she couldn't see him.

She only hoped that she would be out of here soon, and in her addled state of mind, she disregarded the implications of her injury.

Lana listened intently, stumbling over her own feet as she strained to hear the commotion going on down below. The echoes of banging were still issuing from a lower level, but they didn't sound as though they were getting closer. Instead, it seemed as though the source of the noise just kept moving, trying different approaches to get inside but never quite making it.

_What the hell are they doing? _

The scarred woman groaned as B threw her into the room, and she found purchase by grabbing ahold of the table that had been her home for the past few days. She leaned heavily on it, wanting nothing more than to turn around and throttle the man who had brought her here. However, she knew that she had no chance of doing so with her injury. She could still feel warmth running down her cheek as though she were crying blood, and her hands shook as she fingered the protruding knife.

No matter how much she wanted to turn around and fight B, she was nearly powerless in this situation. Any action she took could end up causing more damage, and on top of that she was inexperienced in fighting blindly. She had no idea what to do, or what she could do in order to get away. Was he blocking the door? Was he directly behind her?

Lana didn't know; she couldn't tell, and that terrified her. She had to get the knife out; she needed some time to focus before reentering the fight...

"I'm sorry, Lana," B said from behind her, though he didn't sound sorry in the least. "It may not sound like it, but this…this will work itself out soon. If there's any justice in the world, that is. I've got something to take care of, if you don't mind. It appears your friends have come for you after all—I wonder, though, is L with them? Will he save you if it results in his own death? When I come back I'll let you know. Stay here, will you?"

Before she could respond sarcastically to his ironic request—if she couldn't see the door, then she didn't think there was much hope of her escaping anyway—B slammed the door shut, leaving the scarred woman alone to wallow in both agony and guilt. Agony from the physical and emotional trauma she was suffering, and guilt for being unable to protect the people she had sworn to.

_L…what the hell are you doing?_

* * *

L and Mello pulled themselves through the window fairly easily, and the blonde shot Matt a thumbs up sign as he hooked in the copper wire. The brunette nodded up at them from where he stood, sending them one last worried glance.

As the pair turned away from the window, they heard the unmistakable sound of it clicking shut, and the subsequent muffled cries of protest from Itzel. L did feel slightly guilty for tricking her and Mogi, as well as Matsuda and Misa (though with any luck they wouldn't find out), but he knew there was no way they would have agreed to this proposal. What was done was done, and the detective knew that there was no turning back.

He glanced over at Mello, who was surveying the room they found themselves in. It looked like an office, most likely for an administrator; perhaps the principal. There didn't seem to be anything amiss.

The blonde went over to the door and poked his head out, trying to figure out if it was safe to exit. He looked both ways before backing into the room once again. "Damn," he muttered irritably. "This school looks pretty big. The one Mello and I went to was tiny compared to this…how're we going to find her?"

"We heard her scream. The sound came from above us, so it is fair to assume that she is on the fourth floor. We should check there first."

Mello still looked skeptical. "How do you know it isn't the third?"

"Because of the perceived distance, and the fact that B would most likely want to get as far away from any intruders as possible. He really wants to make this a challenge for me…"

The blonde appeared wary of L's intense expression, but didn't say anything else on the matter. "Okay, then…I'll trust you on this, L. Let's go get her back. Knowing Lana, she's probably pissed off that we haven't come for her before now." Mello began walking towards the door.

The detective followed, but was still a bit uneasy from the other man's words. He was aware that it had been a joke, a quip meant to lighten the bleak mood, but the anxiety L felt was very real. He could only imagine what kind of horrors B had—and still was, apparently—inflicted upon her while she was in his "care." The serial killer was sadistic; he liked to play with his victims before they perished, so L didn't hold out much hope that Lana had been spared this suffering.

No. He couldn't afford to think like that. If he underestimated her, it would mean that he had no faith in the scarred woman, and he wasn't about to let her become another one of the faceless casualties in his pursuit of B. He would find her and get her away from him...

He was only afraid of what he would find when he did.

* * *

_Finally. It took him long enough, didn't it? I've only been waiting here for…what? Three days? Two? It feels much longer than that, but I suppose that's because I'm very impatient at this point. I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time, after all—I can only imagine how boring it would have been if Lana were not here to keep me company. _

_But then again, if she were not here, who knows how long I would have had to wait to confront L on my own terms? Yes, she truly did me an amazing favor. I'll have to pay her back somehow—perhaps I'll grant her a painless death. Well, not painless, but at least quick and less agonizing than what Takada went through. She has suffered enough at this point. _

B strode casually down the stairs, exiting onto the third floor. The racket that was coming from outside had paused, and the serial killer took the time to listen intently at the window. Were they still out there? Were they trying a different approach? Or had they finally managed to get inside? If breaking into the building while creating enough noise to wake a deaf man was their plan, then it was a terrible one. Either that, or these were mere thugs rather than L's accomplices.

However, B's gut was telling him that this was not the case.

He remembered where the noises had been coming from last. He could always go there and meet them head-on—though he would more likely wait in the shadows to strike, since he didn't know how well they were equipped or how many there were.

_But no…that can't be it_, he thought, doubt and instinctual suspicion filling him. If L were involved, he would surely come up with a better plan than a mere break-in. It was laughable for the world famous detective to stoop so low, to come up with such a poorly executed stunt. No, L must have something else up his sleeve. He had to have some other advantage that B didn't know about. He already knew that L would never come here alone, not with so many people at his disposal. So that meant…

_This must be purposeful_. The people who were creating such a racket must have been doing it intentionally; they were creating noise in order to distract him and take his attention off of what was really happening. Even so, that did not mean they hadn't gotten inside the building. He should check just to be certain…

But then it occurred to him: If L wanted a distraction, that meant he must be doing something else simultaneously, somewhere else in the building. He had to be either inside already or trying to get inside, and knowing his former idol, B figured that it was the former. There was a reason that L was a world famous crime-solver, after all. He was exceptionally skilled at trickery and manipulation, and used others' weaknesses to his advantage. But no matter—even with L's assistants, B was still confident in his own abilities.

At that moment, the ceaseless racket started up again, this time issuing from a location closer to the front of the building. _The front doors_, he realized with a smile.

_So they are playing with me, are they? I must admit, I'm surprised, but in a very good way. This has just gotten far more interesting_…

* * *

_I have to do something. I can't just sit here and wallow in pain while…while the others are trying to help me. _

Lana could not explain how, but she knew that L and the others were here, trying to save her. They had come for her, even though it meant that their own lives were on the line. She couldn't tell who it was who had come, though she was willing to bet that L and Itzel were among them. Even if, as she feared deep down, L was mainly interested in stopping B, he would still help her. And Itzel…well, that went without saying. Itzel would always come help her when she was in deep shit. Lana was guessing that the only reason the large woman hadn't shown up alone before now was because the others had agreed to help her.

And as for L…well, there was no doubt that he was the ringleader of whatever plan they were trying to put into action. If her love for him had been clouded before by B's meddling, this knowledge cast away most of the doubt.

So, in return, the scarred woman knew she had to do something as well. In spite of her fear of the unknown, especially with her current lack of vision, she could hardly afford to sit here and wait. With shaking fingers, Lana reached up and grabbed the hilt of her switchblade. Even the faint jostle she gave it as she took hold of the knife caused her to hiss in pain, but she bit her lip to stifle the cry that threatened to escape.

_Come on_, she berated herself, _don't be a little bitch about this. You can do it. Granted, you've never had to pull a knife out of your eye before, but you've been shot, stabbed in the arm, choked out, punched, kicked, had your bones broken…need I go on? I know you can do it…_

_You have to do it. _

_Do it for yourself._

_ And if you have to…_

…_do it for them_.

A horrible squelching sound met her ears as she finally did just that; Lana yanked the blade out so quickly that she even felt blood spray her other hand, the one that was gripping the table. Or the one that had been, because as soon as the blade left her eye, she collapsed.

She released a strangled cry, dropping the knife as her knees buckled beneath her. The dark-haired woman hit the ground hard, and her thigh screamed in protest as she landed on the knife. It didn't break the skin—she ended up landing on the broad side—but she knew that it would leave one hell of a bruise.

She forced herself to her knees, leaning on one of her hands as the other searched for the fallen knife.

_Come on_… She willed herself to open her damaged eye. _Open, dammit! I can't see shit…I don't care how much it hurts, just please let me be able to see something_…

And finally, with little encouragement, she did. It was excruciating, but Lana forced her eye open. She leaned back so she sat on her knees, and traced the outline of the fresh wound with her free hand. The scar was deeper than the one in her right eye, but not jagged; it had been a clean stab. It stung like a bitch, but it wasn't completely useless. When she blinked her eyes, she was able to make out a series of blobs, all with some distinctive shape but little other features that spoke of finer details. Her depth perception was shot to hell, but she was sure that she could rely on guessing and instinct to guide her way.

Yet, even though in medical terms she was all but blind, Lana did not feel fear.

Instead, she felt anger, pity, but above all else, elation. Anger and pity because in that moment, she decided that she was going to be the one to kill B—and, in a sick way, this also filled her with great amusement.

For the first time in seven years, her hope was answered not with a harsh dismissal, but with a positive reply. She was more or less blind, but she could still see _something_—and that was all she could ask for.

Lana found the knife, and held it in her hand like an old friend. "Dammit…" she muttered, pulling herself to her feet. "Now I just have to find the door."

* * *

**Things are going to start picking up next chapter! I can hardly wait to write it! **

**Thanks for reading!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	36. Unplanned Rendezvous

**Author's Note: Well, I posted this earlier than I thought I was going to. I guess I just really got in the zone with this chapter. If it's terrible then blame my cracked-out behavior over the past few days. (Not literally. It's the caffeine.) **

** Just kidding. If it's terrible, blame me. Coffee is my friend. **

** To WildfireDreams: Here you go :)**

** To garnet86: That's what I was going for, though I hope it wasn't too fast-paced. I mean, the climax of a story is almost always either fast-paced or slower moving compared to the rest of it, but I hope I do this one justice. And yes, Lana did get the short end of the stick in this one. Hopefully there will be some improvement in her situation.**

** To version15: Yes, yes she is, unfortunately. This is indeed the beginning of the end! I can't wait to post the ending. I really hope you guys like it! **

** RaspberryDiamonds: WHAAAT? How could you wish for such a horrible thing? That would be so tragic. (Though admittedly not so much more tragic than anything that's happened so far, lol.) **

** Warnings: Violence, Blood/Gore, Profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 36: Unplanned Rendezvous**

Soichiro pedaled faster down the street, his heart racing all the while. His surroundings whipped by him, every building blending into a mishmash of bleached colors with little clarity by which to tell them apart. His breath came in short bursts, but he still forced himself to increase his speed.

_Come on_, he thought, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. He desperately pumped his legs harder, as though he were trying to outrun time itself.

In a way, that was literally what he was doing; he didn't consider the possible futility of his actions, however. He was far too focused on his current goal.

_Just a little bit faster_, he told himself. _I have no time to waste. I have to get to the others before it's too late_…

Soichiro comforted himself with these thoughts, however morbid they might be; they took his mind off of the bleak atmosphere, away from the very real possibility that if he were to falter in his resolve it would only be another mark added to his copious list of failures. He didn't want to have to add another to the list; at this point in his life, it would only be adding insult to injury—and it would cost the lives of several innocent others, no less. In a way, this endeavor was selfish, but in the same vein Soichiro also shuddered to think that another young person would lose their life to save others.

Saving the lives of civilians was supposed to be _his _job. That was why he had stayed behind in the first place, and that was why he continued to train Sayu in his profession after Light had left. How could he, a grown man with a lifetime of experience behind him, allow a young man like Ryuuzaki, as well as everyone else, to throw their lives away? Even if it was to save Lana's and stop a deranged man, he would never be able to sleep well again—not that he did anyway—if even one of them were to die.

It just didn't sit right with him.

As he passed them by, even the rows of houses and miscellaneous buildings looked the same; he was going far too fast to see them clearly, but at the same time the scientist stayed hyper-vigilant, always trying to spot any abnormalities or objects that stood out in one way or another. He knew that this was what Ryuuzaki would have done, and that in order to find out where he and the others had went he would need to locate any clues as to their whereabouts.

Right now, all he needed was a sign; anything would do, even if it were a message hastily scrawled on the street or a blank wall. At the very least, he should be able to track them to wherever they had gone.

Yet the prospect of that happening was beginning to look impossible to the older man. All he had seen so far were a dead body and several large bloodstains on a collapsed building; nothing particularly interesting.

Still, Soichiro knew he couldn't complain, nor did he have the right to. He had been fairly lucky on his journey thus far, and had come close to death a few times. This happened when he passed by some infected people—a cluster of them had been grouped in a back alley—but he had ultimately managed to evade them. They had come at him with less than friendly intentions, and the older man knew that he had no choice but to run.

He was extremely fortunate to have found the bike. When he had stumbled upon it in his haste to escape from the infected victims, he had taken full advantage of the opportunity. It had been a snap decision to pull it out of the rubble of a collapsed building, and had the bike been nonfunctional he surely would have been killed.

But it hadn't been; the bike was fine, and as soon as he righted himself Soichiro had hightailed it out of there. He felt terrible for doing so—in many ways, he felt as though he were abandoning the victims, even though he knew there was nothing to be done for them at this point.

Yet, at the same time, he knew that he had no choice. If he didn't leave and go find the others, then they would perish—or at least some of them would. Whether it would be due to PHD infection or attacks by B, Soichiro was unable to predict; but if he were able to prevent at least one of those outcomes entirely, he would give it his all.

And this was, of course, why he refused to complain as he pedaled with increasing fury in his attempt to pick up speed. He had finally been granted an opportunity to do something that was more than futile; if his concoction worked, it had the potential to turn this whole hopeless situation around. Everyone who was still living here, who was still trapped in a monotonous cycle of misery, could be saved.

Indeed, the entire world could be saved.

And then, if this were the case, perhaps he would feel that he had accomplished his goal of making the world a better place. Perhaps then, he would no longer feel the need to atone for all his past mistakes.

Perhaps then…his daughter would finally be able to live the rest of her life in relative peace. After everything that had happened, it was far less than what she deserved, but Soichiro knew he couldn't turn back time no matter how much he wanted to spare her the pain. This was the closest thing to it.

That was why he needed to find Ryuuzaki. If he did, he could inject him and all the others. If he did, he might be able to contact the outside world and tell them of his discovery. If he did, Soichiro had faith that everything would turn out all right. Their lives had been uprooted beyond easy repair, but this was a positive start.

Now all he had to do was search for a sign.

* * *

The pair took off their surgical masks as soon as they went inside, and L immediately understood that doing so was a mistake.

The stench became particularly nauseating when they left the office, and L knew why the instant they did. It was hard not to know or recognize the smell, having grown increasingly accustomed to all varieties of human-produced scents over the course of the last few months. This one was just more…_personal _than most, most likely because of its ill connotation.

Indeed, L thought, there was nothing quite like the scent of humans that could make another human sick to his or her stomach.

Mello obviously noticed the stench as well, because the blonde man's nose scrunched up with blatant distaste. Had someone with a weaker stomach been in here, he or she might have vomited all over the floor—and, in all honesty, the detective would have preferred that smell.

Mello covered his mouth and nose on instinct, a move that L saw no need to mimic given the sheer pervasiveness of said stench. It would hardly get rid of the smell if he were to attempt to smother it, so he did nothing but stare at the hallway ahead of them. The blonde was wise not to say anything out loud, but the detective already knew what he was thinking; he was sure that it was the same thought he had.

_A deceased corpse—or several—is located somewhere in this building, probably on this floor or the one below. They must have been here for a long time, or at the very least put out in the sun for a few days_. The thought of B keeping dead bodies nearby was certainly unnerving, but L took a morbid degree of comfort in the fact that one of the bodies could not be Lana. He had heard her scream only minutes ago, after all, and had not seen or heard anyone moving downstairs since that time. Had B been carrying another person, his presence should have been obvious.

L's ears perked up as a distant noise sounded above him, breaking through the endless clatter brought upon them by Matsuda and Misa. It was a dull _thud_, one that was accompanied by a string of annoyed murmurs. The detective's eyes widened as he heard them, and hope crested in his heart.

_Could that be her? Yes, but it's too quiet to tell if that is Lana's voice. Given the circumstances, I would say that there is a high probability that it is her. If so, then she is at least healthy enough to speak—though this doesn't mean she is not in danger. We will have to find B quickly_.

He nudged Mello with his elbow in a silent bid to get the man's attention; the blonde turned to look at him with questioning blue eyes, raising his eyebrows as though asking what was going on. Without making a sound, L pointed his finger towards the ceiling, and then redirected it towards his ear so as to mimic the act of listening. In the distance, he could still hear someone moving around upstairs, and he fervently hoped that Mello could hear it too; though the detective trusted his own instincts, he would prefer to have verification from the other man. At this point he was wary of trusting himself; given recent events, L understood that he might be emotionally compromised and simply hearing what he wanted to hear.

However, there was no need to worry; the blonde's eyes widened as more aimless muttering followed. Mello mouthed a single word at him.

_Lana? _

L narrowed his eyes, nodding grimly as the person above let out a low-pitched moan. Even so, they continued on their way.

Basic instinct (and a convenient sign) told the detective that the staircase was located at the end of the hallway. Both men were mindful of their footsteps and the noises around them as they made their way towards the stairwell, and they tried to keep as silent and stealthy as possible.

But for as silent as they were and had been, there was someone else who was even stealthier.

As the pair approached the stairs, a man stepped out in front of them. Both L and Mello froze in their tracks, and their bodies immediately tensed as they saw who it was. Hands dove for the scalpels hidden in their sleeves, and they waited with bated breath for him to make the first move.

It was strange, L thought. Even now, as he laid eyes upon the man, he almost felt as though he were looking into a mirror. He was calm and relaxed, completely at ease with his surroundings. It was as though he didn't have a care in the world, as though he could see everything for what it was just by looking at it.

And the shaggy hair didn't offset the resemblance much, either—it did quite the opposite.

_I did not expect him to approach us so calmly…what is he doing? _

Meanwhile, as L pondered, Beyond Birthday stood passively in front of them; for all that the detective could see, he was clearly unbothered by the whole situation. Running across his proclaimed enemy did nothing to outwardly alarm him. His hands rested comfortably in his pockets, and it took a moment for an alarm bell to go off in his head.

_No_, he thought, _he must have something on him. A weapon, maybe—perhaps it's a knife. Either way, we cannot get too close to him unless we are willing to risk injury. We shouldn't underestimate him after last time_…

"You bastard!"

L thrust his arm out as Mello lunged forward, using the other hand to pull him back harshly; the blonde looked ready to fight the serial killer, his teeth bared and weapon at the ready.

Without needing to think it through, the detective knew this was a bad idea.

"Stop, Mello."

Though said man looked irate, he did as L asked. He didn't look too happy about it, not that the detective could blame him.

In the meantime, L stared intensely at his previous successor, trying to overcome the onslaught of memories that ran through his mind as he did so. Just like the last time he had seen him, it felt as though he were staring at a ghost. Though B had changed in appearance quite a lot, his current state rang true to what L had expected from him after he left Wammy's.

It was awful. It was as though B was still B, but at the same time, he wasn't quite..._human_. It was difficult to describe, and he wondered if the serial killer was able to see the change in himself as well. L doubted that B saw anything negative about how he had changed; if he had, he would not be here, staring at his mentor with eyes that had seen death far too many times to care any longer. His eyes…they were hollow and dark, filled with worldly misery that had been present ever since A's death. He had been too young then—even now, he was still too young.

They all were.

He had tried not to think about it too much, about the inevitable result of his life's work consisting of nothing but death and crime, for he knew that it would only speed up the demise of his career. But now, seeing B brought that all back—it reminded him of what happened, of the worst-case scenario involved in L's profession. B was only in his twenties, after all, and already his life had taken a turn he could not come back from.

And L found that, now that he thought about it…it hurt. It hurt to remember what had once been, though once upon a time A's death and B's defection had seemed to be little more than a nuisance.

How wrong he had been.

Though it pained him to admit it now, hindsight _was_ twenty-twenty.

"B," he said, his calm tone not betraying his internal conflict. Goosebumps raised on his arms as B smiled, his grin slowly overtaking his face. It was an unnerving expression, to say the least.

"Hello, L." His voice was empty. His hand flexed in his pocket, and L's eyes grew to ungodly proportions as he realized what he was doing.

He grabbed Mello's arm and pulled the other man backwards—but the action was pointless. It was already too late to get away.

The can from B's pocket flew towards them in what felt like slow motion, but the pair still couldn't get away fast enough. It landed on the ground beside their feet, bouncing once before settling on the linoleum.

Not even seconds later, it went off, and the hall filled rapidly with gas. L's vision was obscured, and his senses were nearly overwhelmed as the smoke spread everywhere. He stumbled backwards, realizing too late what it was.

It was tear gas.

* * *

Matt looked worried. This came as no surprise to Itzel, since his best friend and crush was inside the school with a damn serial killer.

Anyone would be freaked out right now.

Itzel understood perfectly well what the brunette was going through; she felt much the same. Her best friend was also trapped in there, after all—this time intentionally. She rightly figured that it was L who had told Matt to close the window. Only he would ask him to do something so royally fucked up; the guy was probably feeling guilty as hell.

So, on another level, the Hispanic woman really _didn't_ understand what Matt was feeling. She had felt guilt and shame several times, to be certain, but she had never intentionally done anything to harm those she cared about…at least not in such a direct way. She hadn't been the one to close the damn window; Matt had. She wasn't the one who had been asked to trap two people whom she cared deeply for in a building with a complete psychopath inside.

"Matt," she said, "you okay?"

The brunette looked over at her, his forlorn gaze shifting from the window to her; he was probably surprised that she had called him by his name for a change. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I'm fine. Thanks." He promptly went back to ignoring her.

Itzel sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Well that's good, cause you look like yer gonna burn a hole in that window if you keep starin' at it."

Sarcasm aside, the brunette seemed to genuinely appreciate her attempt to distract him. He faced her again, this time with a snarky gleam in his eye. "I get what you're trying to do, but I don't need it. You always act like you can solve everyone's problems, but sometimes you can't. Talking about it doesn't always help. Our friends are trapped in that school with a monster, a guy who's been doing God knows what to Lana for a few days. You can try to make me feel better, but it's not working. Thanks for trying, though. It was worth a shot, I guess."

Matt's eyes softened as he looked back at the window, and she could tell he was smiling even beneath the mask. Itzel knew it was a nervous smile, though—not a happy one.

"You know, Itzel…" he said, his green eyes gleaming, "you're really—what the hell?"

His abrupt change in tone was alarming, and Itzel followed his eyes back to the window. Sure enough, what she saw made her jaw drop.

"What is that?" Mogi asked. "Is it what I think it is?"

A gaseous white cloud flared up inside the building; it was visible through the window, and completely obscured the objects inside. Though it couldn't fully get through the glass, there were several small puffs of smoke that managed to make it through. They slipped through the miniscule cracks between the window and the frame, and filtered into the outside air. Most of it floated upwards, dissipating not far from the top of the building, but some of it floated down to Itzel.

_This doesn't look good…_ She hesitantly reached up and pulled away part of her mask. With little more than a whiff of the smoke, Itzel violently sneezed, and she put the mask back on as fast as she could. Her throat itched and her eyes burned as she inhaled the smoke, and she coughed repeatedly in an attempt to get rid of the sensation.

"Dammit," Mogi cursed.

"Itzel?" Matt asked worriedly. "What is that stuff?"

"Tear gas," she choked out, tightening the surgical mask over her mouth and nose. "Make sure yer mouths and noses are fully covered. You don't want this shit in your lungs."

"Tear gas?" Matt exclaimed, his eyes wild with panic. "He used _tear gas_ on them? We have to do something!"

"Do what? You wanna open the window and let all of it out here?"

The brunette was at a loss for words, and the Hispanic woman didn't blame him. This situation was truly shitty.

"Listen, Matt, I know you want to save those guys, but L gave us a job to do. I wanna bust in there as badly as the next guy, but I can't. It'd only cause more trouble, and fer all we know doin' that would be as good as suicide. We just hafta sit here and trust them with the rest." She sent Matt a comforting grin, one that was only visible due to the crinkles around her eyes. "I'm sure they'll be fine, ya know. They'll bounce back."

* * *

If it hadn't been for the smoke, Soichiro was certain that he would have missed them.

In hindsight it was remarkably unwise for him to leave his laboratory in search of the others without even knowing where they were. Leaving without sufficient supplies was bad enough, but he reasoned that he probably wouldn't be stopping anyway. With the added speed of the bike, he would surely be able to catch up to them with little trouble.

Still, leaving was far too impulsive for his taste, but at the same time it seemed logical—or, if not logical, then necessary. In any case, as he pedaled down the street, Soichiro saw something that caught his attention.

It was barely a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. It was just a passing puff of white smoke that rose above the building to his left and quickly dissipated. If it were any other day, he would have ignored it, but today this puff of smoke was all he had to go by. It was the only abnormal sight he had seen all day, and was therefore the only clue he had as to the others' whereabouts. On top of this, Soichiro knew that smoke could be caused by a scant few things in this day and age; it could be created by a fire, an explosion, and not much else—and both of these occurrences, he reasoned, were almost always instigated by humans.

Without another moment of thought, the older man turned the corner up ahead in pursuit of the elusive smoke.

But when he did, he ran into another host of problems.

Whether by coincidence or not, the street he turned onto was crowded with the infected. They loitered on the sidewalks and in the street; some of them were heading towards the building that was leaking gas, but most instead opted to stay and quarrel amongst themselves. Furious backtalk, screams, and the occasional string of curses fell from their mouths as they stood off against one another, but Soichiro's arrival distracted them.

Several pairs of crazed eyes turned towards him as he road into the street, and the older man slammed down on the brakes as fast as he could. Evidently, if the looks on their faces were a reliable judge, they saw him as either a more threatening or fruitful target than others like them.

"Hey, old man!" one of them yelled, his greasy hair causing Soichiro to mentally recoil. "Get the fuck outta here!"

A few others seemed to agree with him, though most continued on with what they were doing.

"_Did you hear me?"_

"—tear your fucking limbs off—"

_Dammit._ Soichiro hesitated as he continued to look on in horror at the commotion. The remaining aspects of humanity he saw in them unnerved him. Even if they were filthy, gaunt, and aggressive, they were still alive; they were still humans. The disease had not progressed very far; they still retained most of their awareness, though some of them were clearly past the point of logical reason. None of them appeared to be coughing too violently—though admittedly the coughing was more of a prelude to mental deterioration. It tended to lay dormant for a while before total lung failure set in. Even so, he could not help but wonder…

_If I injected them, could they be saved? _

Unfortunately, he didn't have a chance to find out.

The first man who had addressed him started walking towards him, and others soon followed in his wake. Some of them stumbled, while others moved disconcertingly fast—and, against his conscience, Soichiro bolted.

He plowed through the crowd at full speed, flinching as he registered the cries of pain and fury that followed. He just kept pedaling forward, ignoring the guilt that gnawed at him for leaving them behind; he knew that he had no choice in the matter.

Yet, to his utter horror, he was unable to completely shake them off. Several of them began following him, their cries of outrage causing sweat to bead on his brow. He tried in vain to pedal faster, hoping that he would be able to shake them off his tail eventually.

He didn't look back.

* * *

"What the fuck?"

L ignored Mello's profane language; he was too focused on the immediate threat—the tear gas that B had just unleashed upon them. As the smoke engulfed them, the blonde devolved into a coughing fit.

"Mello," the detective said. "Your mask."

The other man nodded, and the two hurriedly placed their surgical masks back over their faces. It helped a bit, but not by much; not enough to get rid of the horrible burning sensation. The gas still stung their eyes, nose, and throats to a near-unbearable degree, and it was even able to seep through the mask somewhat. It was reminiscent of the many times he had been exposed to the substance, when it had been used by the police to barbarically drive civilians away during political demonstrations. However, during those times he had been far enough away to only receive a mild itching in his throat.

This was far beyond that. It was horrible. Even so, having the masks on was better than nothing.

_Where is B? Did he run away?_ L was having a difficult time getting his thoughts straight. The tear gas was an effective distraction, if that was what B was going for. He was certain that it was. Though this substance could kill if inhaled for a long period of time or if the victim's body was unequipped to deal with it, B would not rely on such a hit-or-miss way of killing him—nor would it satisfy him to do so. Was he just playing another game?

If so, they had better play along.

L tugged on Mello's arm and made a motion to pull him farther into the spreading cloud.

"Are you crazy?" the blonde yelled back, searching the detective's eyes. Mello shook his head in disbelief when he saw that he was dead serious, but did as L instructed.

The pair barged through the thick cloud, and began to cough uncontrollably. Their eyes burned and watered, and their throats and sinuses itched relentlessly. Mello released a sneeze from beside him, and distantly L felt his skin begin to throb in irritation. It was a struggle just to breathe, and both of them tried valiantly to hold their breath. Doing so only incited another round of coughing, anyway.

They made it to the staircase after what seemed like forever; Mello slammed the door shut violently, cutting off most of the gas and providing partial instant relief. A persistent itch remained in their eyes and throats, and the both of them rubbed their eyes before opening them. L's vision was blurry at first, and he idly remembered that exposure to tear gas could cause temporary blindness. He supposed this could be worse.

And all the while, B was nowhere to be found.

The two made it upstairs in record time; they bypassed the third floor, as per L's instructions not to waste time, and emerged onto the fourth level with fresh paranoia and in a more bearable physical state. Being gassed was certainly an experience he could have done without.

Mello left the stairwell before the detective, casting a suspicious glance in both directions before making a safe motion with one hand. L joined him, noting with some appreciation that the stench of decomposing corpses was not prevalent here. It made the experience more tolerable.

The detective chewed on his thumbnail as he looked around at all of the doors. The subtle noises he had heard earlier had halted for the moment, but he wanted to avoid checking all of the rooms. Yet aside from asking aloud if anyone was there, listening for a hint as to the person's presence seemed to be the only option.

This time, the sounds were much closer. Frustrated mutters issued from the door at the end of the hall, and written on the wood was the title:

CHEM LAB A

L nudged Mello, who nodded stiffly. The pair kept their eyes and ears open, and headed slowly towards the door.

* * *

As the trio continued to wait in ever-increasing tension, Itzel heard something in the distance that made her stomach churn with unease. Remote shouts reached her ears, most of which were burdened with audible rage. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she reasoned that it wasn't anything good. This much she knew; in this world, quiet was equivalent to safety.

And of course, screaming could only mean one thing.

"They're coming," she said out loud as she got to her feet, brandishing her scalpel.

"Who?" Matt asked.

"The infected—probably a lot of them. I can hear them coming this way."

Both Mogi and Matt tensed, and they too got their scalpels out.

"How did they find us?"

"Fuck if I know. We made sure to steer clear of 'em on our way here. Somethin' else must be drawing 'em closer. Maybe the gas."

"Damn."

"Tell me about it."

Their group fell silent, and in the absence of any other choice they did the only thing they could.

They waited.

The voices grew progressively louder and more menacing as their owners drew closer, and Itzel mentally prepared herself. Where the infected went, unspeakable horrors usually followed, regardless of whether the victims were healthy or not.

But nothing could have prepared the large woman for _this_.

She almost couldn't believe her eyes as Soichiro blasted full-speed onto the street; the bike he was riding came to a screeching halt when he saw them in the alley. Itzel didn't even have time to wonder where he had gotten it.

She merely stared in shocked disbelief at the veritable horde that was following him; they lagged behind a bit, but it was obvious that they had been following him all this way. And, to her horror, one of them possessed remarkable stamina. Before either her or Mogi could gather their wits, an infected man sprinted over to the scientist. His eyes and yellowing teeth yawned wide as he bore down on the unsuspecting man.

Itzel had never seen Mogi move faster in all her life. The ex-police officer bolted over to Soichiro in record time and kicked away the infected man with one heavy foot. But soon enough, more took his place, and Itzel stared in stark horror as Mogi began to hack mercilessly at the ones who approached them.

To his credit, Soichiro tried to help; though he hesitated at first, he retrieved two scalpels from the small pocket on his backpack, and began tearing through those who tried to attack him and Mogi. They aimed for eyes and throats, and the ones who were hit tended to fall back immediately. Despite their small size, the scalpels weren't totally ineffective; when the crazies saw the sharp objects, they hesitated, maintaining a reasonably safe distance but still refusing to back down. A few of the braver ones even swiped at them with long-nailed fingers.

"Dammit," Itzel hissed, looking down at Matt with concern. He couldn't fight effectively in his condition; he would probably only get himself either hurt worse or killed. She was staunchly opposed to letting him stay here by himself, however, where he would only be a sitting duck. If some of the infected people saw him, he was all but dead—and then, so was everyone else. Idly, she hoped that Matsuda and Misa were on the other side of the building right now.

As she continued to watch Mogi and Soichiro take on what amounted to a small militia by themselves, her guilt and idleness began to weigh on her. She had to just sit here and do nothing because it was her job to protect Matt, just as she had told him earlier. Right now, she had to place all her trust in both him and herself, and hope that the two men would be able to hold off the horde.

But even she was susceptible to hypocrisy.

Without a word to the brunette, Itzel sprinted towards the fray.

"_Itzel_! What the hell are you doing?!"

She dove into the chaos scalpel-first, hacking, sawing, and kicking at everything in her path that wasn't her two allies. She closed her eyes as blood sprayed her, and thanked her lucky stars that she was wearing a mask.

But no matter what they did, it seemed to be of no use. No matter how many people the three of them cut down, more just came up to take their place. It was, by all appearances, a hopeless situation.

Itzel started when she saw Matt pull himself to his feet out of the corner of her eye. He held his scalpel up in a defensive posture, and began to walk towards them. The Hispanic woman spun around to face him, fury etched on her features.

"You damn idiot! _Stay there_!"

"Itzel! Watch out!"

Her eyes widened as she turned back around only to see a haggard young woman bearing down on her; she held a large shard of glass in her hand, and judging by the way she gripped it she was aiming to pierce Itzel's throat.

_Is this it? _

He moved too fast for her to see. All she saw at first was the sickening spray of arterial blood as the man jumped in front of her. Itzel caught him as he fell back against her, and her hands shook as she saw the wide gash in the side of his throat.

"Oh God…" she said, her voice shaking. "_No_!"

* * *

It took her forever to find the door. It wasn't that she was totally blind, but she was certainly having a difficult time trying to find a door that practically matched the shade of the walls around it. Only being able to see prominent shapes and silhouettes posed more of a problem than she cared to admit.

Suffice it to say, Lana was not amused by her disability. She supposed it might be comical for others to watch her feel her way unsuccessfully around a room, but being on the receiving end was humiliating.

But finally, after a few minutes of searching, the scarred woman managed to find it—and promptly released a string of curses when she realized that it was locked from the outside. Someone else would have to open it for her, and she knew without a doubt that B had the key. How else would he have gotten inside in the first place?

"Dammit," she said, jiggling the doorknob in frustration. "This is such bullshit…" Lana trailed off as she heard a noise outside the door; her ears pricked up when she registered what sounded like footsteps just down the hall. Maybe she was being biased, but the dark-haired woman swore that her hearing was more acute without the benefit of sight. She could be mistaken, though; was it true that people who go blind gain better hearing? If so, wouldn't that take some time to develop?

She didn't really feel like pondering it at the moment but, just to be safe, she decided to take a chance and trust her senses.  
"Hello?" she called, pressing her ear to the door. "Is someone there?" _Besides B_…

"Lana?"

Said woman found herself lightheaded from relief when she recognized the voice that answered her, and she drew in a sharp breath. "M-Mello?" she gasped, pressing herself as close to the door as possible. "What the hell are you doing here? Why would you—"

"Lana."

She froze when someone else addressed her, and her stomach churned. She would know that voice anywhere. A sad smile settled upon her lips. "L…"

He had actually come for her; she almost couldn't believe it, despite the assurances she had given herself before. Right now, B's warnings about the detective seemed too distant for her to care.

L—and Mello—was here. That was all that mattered.

But then, Lana's blood froze over when she heard another voice outside the door.

"Why, look at that. Isn't it generous of me to reunite you? I'm not completely heartless, after all."

The woman inwardly cursed as B's voice drifted closer, but she knew she didn't have the right to be surprised at this point. Today's outcome would decide all of their fates, she realized.

This was it.

* * *

**That seems like a good place to end it, right? I don't know how much longer this story will be. Let me take a guess; including the epilogue, I'll say that this story will be around four or five more chapters. **

**Thanks for reading!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	37. Deadlock

** Author's Note: I feel kind of bad leaving you with that cliffhanger last chapter. I hope this one makes up for it! Holy shit, we are really nearing the end of this story now! **

** To WildfireDreams: I make no promises! You'll just have to wait and see who makes it through :)**

** To garnet86: Thanks a lot :) I tried to make the different POVs as intense as possible under the circumstances, and it was actually quite difficult. I wanted to add more to the chapter but had to stop myself for the sake of plot efficiency! Hope you like this one too! **

** To version15: I'm a bit evil when it comes to cliffhangers, haha. I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and that you felt it wasn't too cramped or anything. It's easy to make a story feel rushed when you have a lot of things going on at the same time. **

** Warnings: Violence, Blood/Gore, Profanity, Mature Content.**

* * *

**Chapter 37: Deadlock**

"Oh God…" Itzel said, her voice shaking. "_No_!"

The man slumped against her, his body now mostly dead weight. She heard him gasping for air, so she knew he wasn't dead; he was probably in shock. It was no wonder, she thought cynically; being stabbed in the throat no doubt took a toll on him.

_What do I do?_ Time seemed to slow down as she eyed the wound with increasing terror. The chaos around her paled in comparison to what she was looking at, and she dimly realized that there really wasn't much that could be done. She stared in horror as blood bloomed across the collar of his shirt like a morbid flower, but tried her best to keep herself from collapsing beneath his weight. Her mistakes wouldn't do anybody good.

The world sped up once more when Itzel saw Mogi dive in front of her, slicing across the eyes of one of the infected whom had been about to attack her. She momentarily cursed her stupidity as she jolted back into awareness, and began to drag him backwards. As she did so, she couldn't help but ask him a question.

"Mr. Yagami…" she whispered, speaking more to herself than him, "what were you thinking…?" _Why did you try to save me…?_

The indisposed scientist didn't answer her, nor did she expect him to in his state. Itzel almost lost what little food there was in her stomach when a bead of blood bubbled up out of his lips.

Thankfully, Matt hadn't made it in time to become a target for the infected; instead, he guarded the both of them from any stragglers that Mogi missed as the Hispanic woman dragged Soichiro into the alley and away from the fray. But even with the brunette frantically waving his knife around and staving off most of them, it wasn't anywhere near enough. No matter how hard he tried, Matt's determination couldn't change the fact that he was still injured and unable to keep up the same stamina that Mogi possessed. If they had been having a difficult time before Soichiro had been stabbed, now the situation seemed all but impossible. With both the Surgeon General and Itzel now indisposed, the burden of driving away their attackers fell mostly on the shoulders of the ex-police officer. There was no way in hell Mogi could keep up that pace for long enough to get rid of all of them…

_We're so fucked…_

As Itzel meandered back towards the window, stumbling with Soichiro's added weight, she felt air whoosh by her; she did a double take as a familiar man flew past her and Matt, not missing a step as he all but dove into battle.

Matsuda barely glanced her way as he rushed to join Mogi in the fight, but she heard him call back to her and Matt.

"You guys hang tight! Help them, Misa—Mogi and I got this!"

_Damn_…Itzel thought, allowing herself to be briefly amazed by the unexpected turn in events. _And here I was hopin' that he'd be safe somewhere else…that kid's got guts_.

The large woman sighed in relief as some of Soichiro's dead weight was alleviated by the unprecedented arrival of Misa, who smiled at her as though they weren't in the middle of what amounted to a war zone.

"Hey, guys!" she said, casting glances at both Itzel and Matt. "Misa-Misa's here to help you! We heard the screams and came to help as fast as we could!"

Matt stood guard in front of them as Misa and Itzel sat Soichiro down against the wall. The Hispanic woman removed his backpack so as to ease his discomfort, though the thought that this would make a difference nearly caused her to burst out laughing. Oh, well—it was the least she could do at this point. There was no real way to repay him for saving her skin back there unless she somehow got the ability to sew up jugular wounds without the use of sterilized equipment—or equipment in general.

"Take it easy," she whispered, leaning his head back against the brick wall; guilt seared through her at the obvious grimace on the man's face. "I gotta take a look, Mr. Yagami…"

She almost wished she hadn't. As soon as she saw the wound, Itzel cursed out loud. The glass shard that had pierced him protruded grotesquely from his neck; it was even somewhat difficult for her to see, for it was all but soaked in his blood. Though the object stemmed most of the blood flow from the wound, she knew that this wasn't much help. Judging by the significant and growing stain on his shirt, she figured that even if they _could_ leave the shard in he wouldn't be able to make it.

If he didn't get proper medical attention, he was going to die—and all because he had saved her.

"Dammit," she hissed, hating the feeling of utter helplessness that possessed her. "What do I do?"

Even the perpetually cheerful Misa was at a loss for encouraging words. All that remained on her face was a heavy frown, just like Matt's.

As Itzel began to drive herself into a panicked corner, Soichiro's eyes fluttered open. He grit his teeth against the pain, and opened his mouth as if to speak. When he did, his throat flexed, and a heavy gush of blood flowed from his wound.

"You shouldn't talk, sir—"

"Don't do anything for me, young woman," the man told her, his voice raspy and weak. Itzel flinched as he coughed up a handful of blood.

"Please, stop talking…"

"_Listen_," he forced out, ignoring the obvious agony he was putting himself in by doing so. "Forget about me. I'm an old man…I know a lost cause when I see one. You have to…take my bag…there are syringes and a full vial inside…"

"What are you talkin' about?"

The scientist paused for a moment; his words seemed to be caught in his throat, and Itzel felt her stomach sink as he started to cough up more blood.

"I…" he began, his voice now but a dry wheeze. "I found a…a cure. For the virus…it's in my bag…please, take it…"

The woman's eyes widened, as did both Misa and Matt's. "A cure? You can't be serious…"

Soichiro nodded, gritting his teeth in pain. "You all must inject yourselves with it. Sayu…Sayu has the formula. I left it with her…please, do it now. Save yourselves…and make sure you all get another chance at life…"

His eyes slid closed again, but this time, they didn't open. His features relaxed, and his pained grimace became an impassive one.

"Mr. Yagami?" Itzel tried to rouse him by shaking his shoulders, but all to no avail; he didn't respond to her attempts, though she could clearly see the rise and fall of his chest. "Dammit! Don't you die on us now! What about yer daughter, eh? What about her? _Mr. Yagami_!"

* * *

As he stood before B, L could not help but to wonder what the other man was going to do this time. He knew him well enough to understand that he always had a trick up his sleeve in one way or another; he was the same as him in that regard, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it. Would he throw another tear gas grenade at them, inciting another wild chase down the hallways? Or would he use the opportunity to catch them off guard, even if it meant hurting himself as well?

Or, L thought, would B continue to stare at him and Mello with the same look a lion would give his prey, as though he would like nothing better than to kill them and feast on their primal fear? Did he want them to make a move, to strike out at him first so that he could use a hidden maneuver on them?

It could be any one of those scenarios, but L reasoned that this was no time to become paranoid of B's intentions. It was obvious that the serial killer wanted him dead, so there was really nothing else he could learn at this point that would unhinge him more than he already was. Instead of backing away, he raised his head high and stared down his former successor.

"Are you going to face me this time, B? I assumed you would want to confront me as an equal. I am the one you want, correct? If so, then there is no need for all the theatrics."

B sported a genuine smile at that, and the sight of it made the detective's skin crawl. "I was never not going to face you. Contrary to what the British government may have told you, you were always my main motivation from the beginning. Or...perhaps not my motivation, but at least my catalyst. You allowed me to see the world for what it really was. Even before I knew that you came here, I thought about you every day…about how you would pay dearly when my plans finally unfolded."

"About that…" L interrupted. "It seems a bit difficult to carry through with your so-called plans, don't you think? If I am correct in my assessment, then it seems as though you wish to spread the virus. At least, that was Naomi Misora's belief, and I echo her sentiment. How do you plan on getting back to civilization?"

"A trivial concern, L. I'm surprised at you. Anyone with half a functioning brain can use a raft or even an intact boat. All I need is to get to South America. From there, the virus should spread quite beautifully…"

"But why even bother, when the object of your hatred is me?"

B smiled brokenly, the humor in his dark eyes now underlain by what the detective recognized as, to his shock, sadness.

"It's such a shame, isn't it…" he whispers, his eyes possessing a distant sheen, "…when your entire world crumbles around you?"

L raised an eyebrow.

"As I said before, I thought about you every day. I knew that, even if you didn't come here yourself, someone else would be sent to stop me. That's the kind of person you are. Even if the odds were that I would die if left to my own devices, you couldn't bear to allow me a chance to succeed. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that the famous L would put himself in harm's way just to catch me—to correct his biggest failure. Because that's what I am, aren't I? Just another failure. I hoped, of course, that you would come to stop me, but I never actually thought it would happen. It even made me angry at first, to see you with the woman I had been planning to kill. After all…"

B stepped forward, and Mello immediately tensed.

"…You never did like putting yourself in harm's way, did you? No, you much prefer to watch things unfold from the sidelines, like a grand puppet master. But what happens when the strings are cut? What happens when the man who has lost his humanity once again finds himself among these most desperate and emotional of creatures? As time went by, and the anger at you for following me dissipated, I began to want to find out."

"What are you getting at, B?"

Said man sighed dramatically and spread his arms wide. "I'm telling you what the result is. A desperate man…that's what you've become. I can see it when I look at you. That's what being here has turned you into. Why else would you be so bold as to confront me directly and save the woman who loves you?"

The detective flinched at the second mention of Lana, and his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps because your senseless killing has gone on long enough."

B guffawed loudly. "Senseless? You think what _I'm_ doing is senseless? Have you ever looked in a mirror, L? How many pointless deaths have you allowed to happen due to your ceaseless need for more proof? While you sat in your hotel rooms, safe in the comfort of sugary sweets and waiting for more pictures of a murderer's heinous crimes, more people were becoming victims. Not only that, but so many others were allowed to die merely because you didn't deem their suffering_ interesting_ enough. A real vigilante—a real crusader for justice—would have killed the suspect before he could do any more damage, before he could take any more lives. But instead, what you did time and time again was wait until the evidence was irrefutable, and then, when you finally gave the okay to apprehend the suspect, even more police officers were killed in the ensuing battle. Do you remember?"

Indeed he did—but only because it rang true for multiple cases he had solved over the years. B knew this, and was capitalizing on the fact that he would make L realize it too.

But there was no need. Even to this day, the thought that he could have potentially solved certain cases with more efficiency and less bloodshed bothered him, but now…now B brought it up as though _he_ had been the perpetrator, as though he were the sole one at fault for allowing the killings to continue.

"But what about you?" he asked. "How do you justify all of the people you've killed? What makes you think that this situation is any different, and that you are not one of those faceless murderers I helped put away?"

The serial killer shrugged as though being called a murderer was hardly an insult. "Simple: because I'm me, and I have a purpose. All of those people who died by my hand were, to me, characters, mere stepping-stones on the way to the climax. If all goes as planned, then they will die anyway. Their deaths served my goal in one way or another, even if only to keep my boredom at ease. They were not entirely without meaning or purpose, as so many others are. Besides, what I did was merciful. I took them out of a world that was no good for them. But you…you say that you want to _save_ people's lives. You have allowed for the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands, to continue, despite the fact that you claim to be determined to put an end to what you call brutality. But in doing so, you only reveal yourself as a liar. A better question to ask would be this: Given your own set of beliefs, how do you justify all the people you've allowed to die?"

L knew that B was only trying to rile him up, but his words still rang with relevance. He himself had wondered many a time what would have happened if he had taken different actions—but only briefly. But this…

"What kind of question is that?"

The detective was somewhat surprised when Mello finally spoke up. The blonde had been quiet up until this point, but at B's provocation he seemed to lose what little composure he had to begin with.

"People can't go around blaming themselves for everything they've done wrong," Mello continued. "It's no different with detective work. No matter what you do, people are always going to get killed in the line of duty and a lot of the time for no reason—but torturing yourself over it isn't what a good detective does. It's what a coward does."

"Mello," L said in warning.

"A coward?" B said curiously, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinized Mello. "How do you figure?"

The blonde drew himself up to his full height and glared daggers at the man before him. "A detective who constantly blames himself for the deaths of others is weak. Sure, he might be a good person, but what it really means is that he isn't brave enough to face the fact that sometimes, people die—and there isn't always something he can do about it. Facing this means that he'll come out stronger; he'll be able to solve cases that anyone else would run from. But if he's a coward, he'll take all of the responsibility onto his own shoulders. Do you think anyone can handle that sort of pressure? He'll crack sooner or later. Once he starts blaming himself for every death that happens on his watch, he stops being a good detective."

For the first time, L saw Mello in a whole new light. He never would have guessed it to be true, but the blonde understood. This was the exact line of reasoning that he himself had repeated over the years. When those working beneath him died, and even when the criminals he was trying to catch claimed more innocent victims, L had repeatedly told himself that it had been not a question of his competence, but a question of his resolve. The longer he could hold out against adversity in his cases, the more likely he was to solve them. Mello was aware of this subtle truth, and though the blonde had spoken up at an inopportune time, L could not help but to appreciate his effort.

_He would make a good detective as well, though his passion poses a problem. _

"Is that so?" B asked, placing his chin between two fingers. "If it makes you feel any better to think of things that way, then be my guest. But it's a flawed perception. Claiming that no matter what, you are never the one to blame? That doesn't sound like logic—that sounds like escapism. No one in this world can claim that they haven't victimized someone else. It just isn't true. What about you, L? Are you really telling me that you're the exception? Will you continue to deny what happened all those years ago? Or will you finally be honest with both me and yourself?"

"Listen—"

"It is fine, Mello."

L stared at B with renewed understanding. His line of questioning now made perfect sense, as did the series of clues he had left behind—and, he realized with some degree of guilt, so did Lana's kidnapping. It had never been about mere revenge and his wish to destroy the world, at least not entirely. If it had, B would have killed Lana already and displayed her body for him to see, killed him, and carried on with his plans. It had also not only been about killing him face-to-face, on B's own terms. This conversation was a testament to that.

It was also about closure. Closure for what had happened all those years ago; closure that B had never gotten.

So, for old time's sake, L decided to finally be honest with his former successor.

"It was my fault," he said, and B's ears perked up.

"What was your fault?"

L swallowed dryly. "A's death…his suicide. It was my failure as a mentor and role model that placed him under such intense pressure. I didn't hold the knife, but I gave him the incentive to do it. I take full responsibility. I pushed all of that pressure onto all of you—but especially him—and then I turned my back because, as you said, I did not feel it was as important as solving cases. I am not a criminal, as you have claimed…but I am also not a good person. I never was, and the fact that I have changed since coming here…since meeting the others, and especially Lana…will not change that."

Total silence rang through the hallway, and L could not smother the eerie sensation that a bomb was about to go off.

"So you finally admitted it," B whispered, his eyes replete with minimal satisfaction. "Unfortunately, that isn't enough to undo what you've done. I appreciate the effort…but it hasn't changed my mind about anything."

"I did not expect it to."

B smiled as he pulled two knives out of his pockets. "You've still got some repenting to do, L." With that, he charged at them.

_He's fast. _

Both L and Mello barely moved fast enough to avoid getting cut. They split apart as B charged at them, bordering their opponent on both sides. But the fight wouldn't be over so soon.

B spun around quickly and parried both men's knives before diving beneath the blades. He emerged uninjured on the other side, and once again resorted to defending himself against their blows. He didn't try to strike out at them offensively, and even allowed himself to be forced ever backwards.

_What is he doing? Is he toying with us again? Or is he seriously defending himself? _

L got his answer when, as Mello swiped at B's head, the serial killer dove beneath the blade. He then spun around with practiced fluidity, and landed a heavy kick to the blonde's stomach.

Mello stumbled backwards and caught his breath, and B took the opportunity to lunge for L. The detective blocked one of B's knives with his own, and at the last moment used his free hand to grab onto his other wrist. The knife stopped a mere inch from his face.

"Well, well, well," B cooed. "This should be fun."

* * *

She heard. From the other side of the door, Lana heard it all: the heated debate between L and B, the serial killer's twisted accusation, and even—to her absolute shock—L's confession.

The last part was the one that struck her the most; as she heard the detective say those fateful words—_It was my fault_—she felt her heart slow in her chest, with an ache that was subtle but torturous.

_So…so all of it's true? The story that B told me about L's old successor? About how…how L didn't care? How could it be true? L isn't…he isn't a monster…_

But then again, she remembered hating him with a passion on several occasions for being insensitive in regards to death, so it only made sense that he would have done something similar in the case of a child.

_But he was a child! How would you feel if he reacted that way about your brother? _

She knew the answer without any doubt. She would hate him, much like B did. Not enough to want to kill him, but enough to cut off all ties. Could this really be the man she had fallen in love with?

Lana wasn't so sure anymore.

But then she heard L's next words.

_"I am not a criminal, as you have claimed…but I am also not a good person. I never was, and the fact that I have changed since coming here…since meeting the others, and especially Lana…will not change that."_

_I am also not a good person_. That one sentence held all the clarity she had been lacking.

_Did I…did I really change him that much?_ Her heart swelled with—not quite happiness, but a mixture of relief and guilt. _That's right_, she reminded herself. _I didn't fall in love with him because he's a good person, or even because he was trying to save the world. None of that matters to me, at least not in the broad sense. I fell in love with L because of him—along with all of his quirks and flaws. I fell in love with him at the same time he began to change. His personality's the same, but he's more open, more willing to invest himself in the welfare of others for no other reason than the fact that he wants to._

Lana recalled the hours he had spent sitting with her while she was quarantined, and a smile crept over her face.

_That's right_, she thought again. _That's him—not the person B's talking about. None of that's him anymore. He's the L who pulled me out of Waterfront that day, even if his intentions are different now…_

_And I'll be damned if I let B take that away. _

The scarred woman sprang back to life when she heard the fight commence. She clutched the switchblade in her hand, holding it firm as she felt out the crack between the door and its frame. She cheered inside her head when she found it.

_This should be right below where the lock is…_

With practiced hands, Lana aligned the tip of the knife with the crack and began to jimmy it.

_If you think I'm just gonna sit here like a captive, you've got another thing coming._

* * *

_This isn't good…_

Matt stood firm as Matsuda and Mogi continued to fight off all the infected people who came their way, but on the inside he was fighting a losing battle. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was afraid. He knew that the others were too. If even one of them slipped up it could mean all of their deaths, and without them L, Mello, and Lana would be out of luck for escaping.

But what else was he supposed to do? He didn't want to leave Itzel and Misa alone to take care of Soichiro; right now they were occupied with trying to take care of his wound. They couldn't fight effectively and treat a dying man at the same time, and if he tried to go and help the others he might end up being killed for his lack of stamina. Matt knew that he had to stay here and cover them while they were distracted.

Yet no matter how he tried to justify his actions, it was still glaringly obvious to the brunette that neither Matsuda nor Mogi, for all of their painstaking efforts, could hold out much longer. The noise and chaos of the ongoing battle inevitably attracted more infected people to the area, and the two men could only keep up with the sheer number of them for so long. Even now it was clear that they were becoming overwhelmed; their movements weren't as speedy, and they didn't pack as much strength in their blows. The slash of scalpels was punctuated with weakened punches and kicks, and Matt flinched as Matsuda barely managed to avoid getting clawed.

The two men were being forced ever backwards by the ceaseless tide; if they didn't do something else soon, they would lose and have no choice but to retreat. What would L, Mello, and Lana do then?

Matt glanced back at the others who were behind him, and grimaced at Soichiro's sorry state. The man was bleeding heavily even though he was unconscious, and the brunette could not shake the feeling that he was knocking on death's door at this point. He didn't want to think about it.

But to die in a place like this… It made him shiver with distaste. It wasn't a fate he would wish upon anyone. But, he reminded himself, that could very well be today's result.

As Itzel and Misa continued to try to staunch the flow of blood with the large woman's hoodie, Matt finally decided.

_If I can't do anything else, I can at least warn them_. _Even if I can't fight or protect them, I can do this much…_

He just hoped that it would be enough.

With quivering fingers the brunette pulled the as-of-yet unused walkie-talkie out of his pocket and pressed the button to connect to L's.

"Hello?" He practically yelled into the speaker; his desperation bled through in his tone, and he was certain that the others could hear it. "L, are you there? Can you hear me?"

To Matt's dismay, nothing but empty static answered him—that, and the background noise of metal clanging against metal. If he strained his ears, the brunette also thought he could hear distant voices, but he supposed that could be in his head—or he could just be hearing the shouts that emanated from the crowd of infected people behind him. He was surprised that he could even hear himself think.

But still, even though there was no response to his pleas, Matt was not deterred in the slightest.

"L, Mello, listen to me," he continued. "I don't know what the hell's going on in there, or if you even still have your walkie-talkie, but if you guys can hear me, listen. Whatever you do, _don't come outside_. Right now all of us are being swarmed by infected people. Soichiro's here with us…he must have led them here. Everyone's still alive…" _For now, _he thought as he chanced another look at Soichiro.

There was still no response. Matt closed his eyes. "Just…just don't come outside, okay? Mogi and Matsuda are trying to ward them off right now, but it's not going so great, man…just be careful; all three of you, if Lana's there. Mello…I'll be fine. We'll hold out for as long as possible. And…I'm sorry."

* * *

L barely succeeded in dodging the knife that came his way, and flew backwards to evade it.

B charged forward to finish the job, but Mello mercifully stopped him when he dove at him from the side. The two men crashed into a wall, and Mello immediately went for his throat with the knife. He had barely swung the blade when B knocked it out of his hand, and in desperation the blonde grabbed ahold of the other man's wrists.

Over the grunts that came from both of them, L heard a rattling noise behind him that stopped him in his tracks. He glanced backwards for barely a second, but it was still enough time for the tables to turn.

A heavy grunt reached his ears, and as the detective turned back around he was greeted by the sight of B running straight for him, his knives drawn. Mello kneeled on the ground, clutching his stomach with one hand.

_No—B didn't stab him, did he? _

L clashed blades with B, and moved as fast as possible in order to evade the two that were aiming for him. The other man's face was an inch away from his, so close that their noses were almost touching. His smirk was almost palpable.

"Don't get distracted, L. You wouldn't want the fight to end too early, would you?"

The detective glared, but chose to ignore his jibe. "Mello, are you okay?" he called out, hoping that the blonde man wasn't seriously injured.

He got his answer when said man rejoined the fray, aiming his blade for B's throat. His attack was easily dodged, and the serial killer even managed to back-roll out of stabbing distance, but Mello succeeded in taking some of the pressure off of L.

"I'm fine," the blonde said cheekily. "He only made a shallow wound." L glanced at his abdomen and saw a thin line of blood blooming across his shirt. The detective nodded back at him.

Once again, everything came to a standstill, with all three of them staring at each other. L tried to quickly assess how to take down B without getting stabbed in the process.

_It doesn't look promising. B is far more skilled with a blade than either Mello or I. He is accustomed to using this weapon, whereas I am more attuned to hand-to-hand combat. Mello, on the other hand, is used to guns, though I am sure he would be a formidable fighter as well. However, he cannot afford to gain another wound…_

Suddenly, a woman's voice cut through the quiet.

_"L! Mello! What's going on out there?!"_ There was harsh banging from the other side of the door; Lana sounded almost frantic. The long lapse of silence could only mean something horrible had happened, at least from her perspective.

"Everything is fine," he told her, not taking his eyes off of B. "Just hold firm for a while longer, Lana."

B guffawed. "Confident words, L. But are you sure you can back them up?"

Finally, it occurred to him what he had to do—and he would need Mello's help to do it. L steeled his nerves and focused all his energy on B's left hand.

"Mello, when I give the word, go for his right hand."

"What?"

"Do it."

B grinned devilishly as he ran towards them, and both Mello and L did the same.

_Clang. _

B held off both of their weapons with his, and his wrists shook with the sheer force of doing so. He jumped backwards, brandishing his knives in front of him as a form of defense.

"Go!"

Mello did as he was told, and charged for B with his eyes set on the man's left hand.

B grinned and made to catch the blonde off guard; he aimed the knife in his right hand, and as he did, Mello did something that even impressed L.

At the last second, Mello twisted his body around to face the incoming weapon, and with no hesitation used his own to hit the blade out of B's hand. The serial killer's eyes widened as one of his weapons clattered to the floor, but he didn't allow Mello an opportunity to retaliate. His now-empty hand grabbed ahold of the blonde's wrist; with seemingly little effort, B plunged his knee into the other man's stomach, and a dull thud reached L's ears.

Immediately Mello's body curled in on itself, and he coughed harshly. Before he had a chance to recover, B reared back and kicked him. The blonde hit the wall hard, and the echo of his knife falling to the floor rang throughout the building. Thinking quickly, B kicked the fallen weapon to the end of the hallway; it came to a stop right outside the room Lana was trapped in, far beyond either L or Mello's reach.

All was still as the three men tried to recuperate, Mello in particular. He appeared to be struggling to breathe. B turned to face L again, paying no mind to the agonized blonde. Mello, now weaponless, hesitated as he glared at the serial killer. L didn't blame him.

And then, in the quiet of the hallway, the walkie-talkie in the detective's pocket began to crackle with static—and shortly thereafter, he heard Matt's voice coming from the other side.

"_Hello? L, are you there? Can you hear me?_" Matt paused momentarily and waited for L to respond. He didn't. "_L, Mello, listen to me. I don't know what the hell's going on in there, or if you even still have your walkie-talkie, but if you guys can hear me, listen. Whatever you do, don't come outside. Right now all of us are being swarmed by infected people. Soichiro's here with us…he must have led them here. Everyone's still alive…_"

_Soichiro…what was he thinking, jeopardizing our mission like this? What is so important that he had to come all the way here to find us?_

"_Just…just don't come outside, okay? Mogi and Matsuda are trying to ward them off right now, but it's not going so great, man…just be careful. All three of you, if Lana's there. Mello…I'll be fine. We'll hold out for as long as possible. And…I'm sorry_."

With that, the conversation was cut off.

_A swarm of infected people…this is extraordinarily bad timing…or is it? _

"Matt…" Mello whispered from his prone position against the wall. "Dammit…"

"That didn't sound good, L," B teased. "It seems that your pawns aren't quite up to the task this time around."

"Shut the fuck up!" Mello spat. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You're right."

Both men eyed the detective strangely, though Mello appeared to be more livid than curious. "What the fuck? What's wrong with you?"

"Mello," L said flatly. "Take this walkie-talkie and go open the front doors."

"What?"

"Use it to call the others, and tell Itzel to remove the barrier she and Mogi put up at the front doors."

L threw the contraption in the blonde's direction, and said man scrambled to catch it. He looked skeptical, however. "L, what are you—?"

"Just do it. By coming with me you've made it clear that you do not fear death. Is that still true?"

Mello still seemed unsure, but without a word of complaint he got up and ran back towards the stairwell. B watched him leave with an impassive expression, then turned back to face his enemy with a goofy grin on his face.

"I see what you're doing," he observed. "Well…I didn't expect that out of you. This just became even more interesting…"

* * *

**And shit is going to hit the fan next chapter, as you can probably already tell. Oh, I can't wait!**

**As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you all liked this chapter!**

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	38. For Them

**Author's Note: I'm visiting my family for Christmas, but I'm going to try to update when I can! In other news, there will only be two more chapters after this one: the last chapter and the epilogue. Then it's the end! I'm almost sad…and please, don't hate me after reading this chapter…**

**To WildfireDreams: I hope you like this chapter! **

**To garnet86: Glad you like it, though I do hope it isn't too long. I didn't want to make it too short or anticlimactic, either. I don't know—tell me if I did it well or not, please! **

**To WhiteLadyDragon: The entire situation is most unfortunate, isn't it? I like to keep people on their toes! No need to apologize for the silence. I too have been under a lot of stress lately, but I'm looking forward to being on break for Christmas. **

**I wanted to make this story's climax seem kind of like a movie; I thought it would work well with the subject matter. I'm glad you liked the scene with L and B, and I hope you like this chapter too! **

**Warnings: Violence, Blood/Gore, Profanity.**

* * *

**Chapter 38: For Them**

_I can't believe this. Is he for real? I mean, I know that I told him I'm willing to risk my life, but this is just insane. It's like the guy has a death wish, or something. _

The most ludicrous part of all of this was that, in spite of his reservations, Mello was still doing what L had asked him to. He had bolted down the stairs as soon as the detective gave the word, with little to no regard for the implications of his plan.

What did that say about himself, he wondered? Was he blinded by the respect he held for the famous detective? He couldn't bring himself to care at this point, though the thought still nagged at him incessantly.

The blonde cursed his body's ineptitude as he raced downstairs, but above all else he cursed B for kicking him right in the stomach—and for slashing him with the knife as well, though the wound was almost entirely superficial. The most he had to worry about was infection, but he still felt a justifiable sense of disdain for the serial killer. He hated it when other people made a fool out of him, and that was all B seemed to be doing—to both him and L, and to everyone who had tried to stop him. Mello wanted him gone—preferably dead.

However, he wasn't so full of bloodlust as to completely lose all sense of his logical faculties. What L had asked him to do seemed not only entirely reckless, but also capable of getting them all killed. If he were to let all of the infected people inside, how would they get away? He understood that L couldn't relay a whole plan to him with such little time, especially since their enemy was right in front of them, but it still bothered the blonde man. He had never liked doing things without knowing the reason, and if said actions were dangerous, he wanted to know every single detail.

But it looked like that wasn't going to happen.

_L…what are you thinking?_ The strange man's state of mind continued to elude him, but perhaps that was for the best; he wasn't sure he wanted to know every facet of the man's mind, especially since he seemed to carry so much baggage. But even so…his idea didn't appeal to him.

Yet, as much as Mello was vehemently opposed to it, he still found himself obeying L's request. A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered that he had to trust the detective, and if he didn't, then they would all be dead meat anyway. Just this once, he had to suck up his pride.

Though he was breathing heavily as he raced downstairs, the blonde pulled out L's walkie-talkie and pressed the call button.

_Come on, Matt_, he thought to himself, impatience wearing on his nerves. _Pick up. Please don't be dead_…

His heart hammered against his ribcage when his best friend finally picked up. "_L_?" the brunette called out, his tone still saturated with panic. It was difficult to even make out his words over the chaotic background noise. "_Is that you_?"

"Matt? No, it's Mello," the blonde huffed out, cringing in pain as the strain caused his abs to cramp. He stumbled, and only narrowly avoided a nasty fall down the stairs by grabbing ahold of the handrail. "I need a favor."

"_Mello? Is everything okay? Where's L?" _

"He's fine, and so am I," Mello lied; he tried in vain to keep the lingering pain out of his voice. "Listen, I need you to do something for me, okay? Try not to argue with me."

"…_Uh, okay. Sure, man. What is it?" _

The blonde sighed, hastily throwing open the next door. "Tell Itzel to go unblock and leave open the front doors of the school. Tell her to hurry up, too. L and Lana are in a bad situation."

Just as he had thought, Matt took a few seconds to process his friend's request. Mello could picture the brunette gaping at the walkie-talkie, wondering what the hell he was doing by asking for such a ridiculous favor. _"What?"_ he finally gasped. _"Are you kidding me, man? If I do that, all the sickos will—"_

"I know," Mello growled. "But that's what L said to do. I don't know exactly what he's planning, but we have to trust him, right? And think about it: if all of them come after us, you guys will be off scot-free. Don't worry about it. We'll be fine."

For a moment the blonde thought that Matt had hung up, but a few moments later his skeptical voice returned. "…_Right. We should trust him. You're right…I'll tell her. But…be careful, okay, man?"_

Despite himself, Mello smiled. "Didn't I just tell you that we'd be fine? I know what I'm doing."

"_Yeah. You're pretty smart for a dumb blonde."_

"Fuck off."

"_Right back at you." _

"Matt…thanks."

"…_You too." _

Matt hung up then, and ever so slightly the blonde sped up. He made it to the front doors in record time, and very nearly crashed into them before managing to halt his momentum.

Now all he had to do was wait, and in doing so his anxiety returned. But this time, instead of giving into it, Mello crushed it beneath his metaphorical foot.

_L…I don't know what your plan is to get us out of this, but I'm going to trust you. It's fucking stupid, but it's hard for me to shake off an old habit. When I was a little kid, you were always the person I looked up to most. Being alone made me want to become strong, and you seemed like the strongest person in the world. Even though I had no idea who you were, you seemed so smart, so invincible—I even thought of you as a hero. I think I idolized you so much when I was young that I only ended up becoming bitter when I realized I could never be like you—that I was probably going to die here, without saving a single person. _

_But then I met you in real life—and now I understand just how stupid I was being. You aren't normal, but you sure as hell aren't a hero, either. You're a person, just like anyone else—just like me. I think…that's all I really needed to know. But even though I know you aren't invincible, I think…I think I'll trust you now. _

_I'll let you be a hero one last time_.

* * *

Itzel had never felt more useless in her life, and that was saying a lot. When she tried to trace her past and the sequence of events that had led her to futilely attempt to staunch the massive flow of blood from a dying man's neck, she came up with only one explanation.

Yeah. It's because she never knew when to quit, did she? She never knew when to give up and let things lie. She wasn't about to start now.

"Itzel, L needs your help!"

"What?" The Hispanic woman craned her neck to see Matt leaning over her, a worried gleam in his eye. "What's he want? If ya couldn't tell, I'm kind busy right now," she snapped.

For the sake of saving time, the brunette decided to ignore her rudeness. "Mello just called," he said. "He told me to tell you that L wants you to open the front doors."

Itzel's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "What? Is that fucker on drugs or just suicidal? I thought the whole point of keeping 'em closed was to keep B from getting out! If I do that then—"

"He knows," Matt told her, cutting the woman off midsentence. "I already asked him about it. I don't know what's going on in there, but we've got no choice but to trust him, right? I mean, it's not like there's much else we can do."

While Matt talked, the large woman could not help but muse on the fact that she had never met anyone with a bigger death wish than that freaky detective. At times it almost seemed like he was trying to get himself killed, but Itzel was beginning to think that the guy was psychic or something. Everything he did made sense in hindsight—reckless it may be—but right now all she was capable of doing was shaking her head slowly.

_That guy must be fucking crazy—guess I don't have a right to judge, though. S'long as he saves Lana, I don't care how he does it. _

"Goddamn," she muttered. From the moment Matt asked her, she already knew she was a goner. "I'm up to here with this shit…Misa, keep pressure on that wound, got it? But be careful not to push the glass in further."

"Okay!" the blonde girl chirped, following the other woman's directions with ironic enthusiasm.

Without further ado, Itzel stood up and proceeded to do something that, in any other circumstance, she would consider rightfully insane.

"Hey, fuckers!" Her scream echoed up and down the street, and chances were it attracted the attention of every infected person on the block. That was what she was hoping for, at least. She waved her hands above her head like a madwoman. "Over here!"

Mogi and Matsuda gaped as the attacks on them suddenly stopped; the infected people turned their attention towards the flailing woman instead, and several of them began heading in her direction.

_Perfect_, she thought, a cocky smile blooming over her face. _I got their attention_. "That's right, cocksuckers," she yelled, trying her best to get them riled up. "Come and get me! I'll kick the shit outta you!" Self-preservation told her to shut up, but as most of the attackers turned away from the others, she only yelled louder. "Sorry, guys," she called over to them. "L's orders!"

And with that, Itzel turned tail and bolted towards the front doors. She heard the footsteps behind her pick up speed, and it was only then that she allowed her fear and adrenaline to dictate her movement.

_Fuck me._

She stumbled to a halt at the front of the school and whipped around to face the approaching mob. Though she wanted nothing more than to keep running, she forced herself to stand still until the very last moment.

_Sorry about this, guys. I sure as hell hope L knows what he's doing._

Just as the first person came at her, Itzel threw open the doors.

* * *

L could barely keep up at this point. With Mello no longer helping him in the fight against B, he was on his own in defending against the other man's attacks. Weapons had never been his forte, especially when trying to defend himself from them. He was a close-quarters, hand-to-hand (or foot) fighter, a specialty which did not bode well when his opponent was both armed and skilled with the use of a weapon. He had even had a hit landed on him by Lana while she was weaponless, so he in no way dared to overestimate his abilities.

The detective knew that if this went on for much longer, he would undoubtedly lose. He only hoped that Mello would get back here soon; it was probably just in his head, but he felt as though time were passing by much more slowly now.

"What's wrong, L?" B asked, dodging the other man's swing. He countered with a right kick, and L easily avoided getting kicked in the abdomen. Blows, at least, he could dodge. "You look worried."

The momentary distraction allowed B to aim a sweep at his foot, but L managed to turn his stumble into an evasive maneuver.

_I should try to distract him as well._

"I am only worried about you, B."

"Me? Why would you be?"

_Swoosh. _

"Because, contrary to what you may believe, I do not wish to see you die."

"That's funny, coming from you. You almost sound human."

"I could say the same for you."

"True, but I'm not the one denying that claim."

L stopped for a moment; he tried to gain enough distance from the serial killer in order to address him without fear of a surprise attack. "Listen to me, B," he said, putting more force into his tone. "It does not have to be this way. You don't have to end the world."

B glared at his former mentor. "This again? I already explained my reasons. Stop wasting time."

"You did, but it's not too late to stop. Destroying the world will not solve anything. It will not right past wrongs—and it will not bring A back, either."

"Maybe not, but it will get rid of the modern-day barbarism that other people call society."

L shook his head sadly. "You may think so, but you're wrong. All it will do is destroy the potential to make it better. How can that be right? It's mere fatalism, and getting rid of society is not a solution."

"Well then…" B said, shrugging nonchalantly, "I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree, wouldn't you say?"

"…I suppose so. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

The two men went silent, and L once more allowed adrenaline to take over his body as B eyed him with a predatory gaze.

_I have to beat him_, he thought. _I cannot afford to lose here. I have to beat him._

_For them. _

_For Lana_, the voice in the back of his mind added.

They collided with frightening speed, neither one holding his strength back against the other. Both had the same intent—to cut through his opponent with one swift blow and finally end the charade they had been involved in from the beginning.

But, as it had seemed from the start of their fight, neither one knew how to let go.

Their blades flew through the air, knocked from their hands by the force of the other's hit. For a moment they both stood still, appalled by the almost poetic nature of the situation as both knives slid to the end of the hallway. When the disbelief wore off, they sprung away from each other, their hands and feet now the only weapons with which to fight.

"L?" Lana's voice called from behind the door. "What the fuck's going on? L!"

B grinned. "How fitting. This leaves us with no choice but to use our hands, doesn't it?"

The detective inclined his head. Privately, he allowed hope to bloom in his chest.

_Sorry, Lana. I can do this. Just wait a bit longer_.

* * *

"Itzel, you bitch! Are you trying to kill me?!"

That damn woman hadn't held back, that was for sure. It sounded like she had brought the whole fucking block into the school, if the sheer volume of the cursing and screaming behind him was anything to go by. Couldn't she have at least shown _some_ restraint before sending all of these infected people after him?

He was lucky he had a head start; otherwise he'd probably be mincemeat right now. As it was, he just made sure to slam the door to every stairwell closed. It would at least buy him some time.

The real tragedy in this situation was that it was twice as hard to run upstairs as it was down.

_I can do this. I just have to make it back upstairs. Then everything will be fine. L, you'd better have a fucking plan_.

* * *

L spat blood as B's knuckles slammed into his cheek and caused him to bite down, but that didn't stop him. He reared back and avoided the next flurry of punches, and instead tried to gain time. He didn't want to admit it, but he was still a bit rusty from his most recent injury, and this made it all the more difficult to stall.

"What's wrong, L?" B taunted him, smirking as the detective slipped his right hook. "Why don't you hit me?"

_Wait for an opening…he has more stamina than me. I have to wear him out first. He has a good guard, so the only way I'll get a winning shot in is to wait for him to slow down. _

"Waiting for an opportunity"—L dodged another punch—"won't get you anywhere, L. This isn't a normal fight. If you don't do something soon, I'll get a hit in eventually."

_He's only trying to provoke me. _

"Then I'll win."

"_Don't listen to him, L!" _He heard the scarred woman's scream as vividly as if she were standing right behind him.

_Lana…_

A sadistic smirk flitted across B's features. "And the first thing I'm going to do"—his next hit wasn't dodged as quickly—"is kill that woman."

L slipped up for barely a second, but it was more than enough. B's punch slammed into his jaw with full force, enough to send him reeling into the door right behind him. The back of his skull cracked against the wood, and his vision devolved into a hazy blur. He sank down to the floor, his mind and body both stunned.

Through the dizziness he heard B's snicker, and the echo of his footsteps told him exactly what he was going for—the fallen knife.

"No," he mumbled, his teeth clenching. "Get…"

_Get up. _

_ Get up. _

"Get up, L!"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice, the familiar alto issuing from right behind him. "Lana…"

"You know it! Now get up_, please_! He's going to kill you if you don't. Don't let him beat you!"

"You…" An image of her face surfaced in his mind, of the last time he had seen her. The night that they slept together, he had watched her sleep. Her expression had been peaceful, not contorted with pain or frustration. She had looked happy—and seeing her that way had made him ache in a way that he didn't believe should come from happiness.

It had saddened him, because he rarely ever saw her in such a state. And now…now she was suffering even more.

Because of him.

_ No. _

He forced his eyes open, and refocused his attention on B. He was already almost to the end of the hallway, and L watched as he picked up one of the knives he had dropped. When he turned back around, there was a smile on his face.

"Sorry, L," he said. "I've won."

_Not yet._

With all the strength he could muster, L stood up. He shook off the dizziness and took a step forward.

_I won't let you. _

At that moment, an echoing boom sounded from the stairwell, and with no warning Mello burst into the hall. The echoes of several people sounded not far below him.

And, L realized, he was right next to B.

"Mello—"

He stopped talking, and stared in disbelief at what was right in front of him, but what he didn't want to believe.

Mello, staring into the face of the serial killer with shock plastered across his features…

And B, smugly looking back while his hand held onto the hilt of the knife—the knife that was plunged into Mello's stomach.

"_Mello!"_

* * *

After what felt to her like hours of ceaseless effort, Lana finally managed to undo the lock on the door with her knife. The lock made a hollow clicking sound when she moved the blade a certain way, and when she tried to turn the knob afterwards it moved with relative ease.

_Finally. _

From outside the door, the scarred woman could hear L clamber to his feet.

"You…" He trailed off before he said anything else, and Lana idly wondered if he had retained some sort of brain injury when B had kicked him into the door.

_Is he really okay?_ Her heart raced with anxiety at the thought that he was going to continue to fight B, and despite the fact that she had been encouraging him a moment earlier, the thought made her uneasy.

She heard him take a step away from the door, and as soon as she was able to do so without hitting him, she opened it. Lana blinked her eyes several times as she had her first view of the hallway, and was mercifully able to at least make out the shape of L and B's bodies as they faced each other. L didn't turn around; he didn't seem to notice that the dark-haired woman was now huddled on the floor behind him. If B noticed—and she found it doubtful that he didn't—he said nothing.

The utter silence in the hall weighed heavily on her mind, and Lana found it hard to breathe.

_What do I do? Should I let L fight him again? What if he can't keep up? I have to do something_… She subconsciously clutched the blade tighter in her hand, holding it so fiercely that it nearly caused her pain. "L—"

Before she could even get his name out, the deep boom of a door bursting open cut her off, and another silhouette emerged onto the scene right next to B.

_Mello?_ Lana wasn't able to make out any finer features other than his body shape, but she figured that it was the blonde merely returning from the task L had given him—to open the front doors. That meant…that meant that all the infected people would be able to come in.

But that concern quickly took a back seat.

"Mello—" L said, his voice laced with concern.

There was no warning, no shout or cry of pain, and no climactic atmosphere. She could hardly see anything, but what Lana could see caused her heart to freeze in her chest.

There were two silhouettes—Mello's and B's, presumably—that were pressed up against each other, one of which was unnaturally stiff. The sound of a blade sinking into flesh was unmistakable; she had heard it many times before. L's cry of warning had not been enough to save the blonde, and now, as she listened in stark horror to the scene before her, Lana found it within herself to do something.

_"Mello!"_ she screamed.

All three of the men turned their attention towards her; she could feel their gazes boring into her. B was the first to respond, and he released a snort of amusement. "So you finally spoke. Good. I was starting to think that you'd gone mute from shock."

Lana cringed at the sickening noise of the knife being pulled from Mello's flesh, and the blonde man let out a groan of agony as he fell to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud, and his labored breathing reverberated throughout the hallway.

_Mello…no…why are you dying? Why did you…? _

_ You can't die. I can't let any of you die…_

_ I won't. _

Suddenly anger, the likes of which she'd never felt, ignited her shaking hands and legs. Adrenaline kicked in with full force, and the scarred woman pushed herself into a low crouch.

"You _bastard_," she hissed, her tone venomous. Before she could get to her feet, however, she felt L kneel down to her level. He placed a hand on her knee.

"Please don't try to get up," he said. For once, he actually sounded concerned.

Though she knew he meant well, Lana could not hide her frustration. "Don't tell me what to do," she snapped.

"He's right, Lana," B told her, sounding more amused than anything else. "You aren't in any position to fight me right now. I'm surprised that you're still trying to stand up. I really did a number on you." He paused for a moment, his sadistic laughter filling the room. "In any case, you aren't fit to be a hero."

Her blood sang with rage at every word that came out of his mouth, and she strained violently against L's attempts to subdue her. He tried to calm her with words, but without much success.

"You should go back to the room, Lana—"

For some reason, the suggestion that she sit out this fight enraged her more than she already was. "_No_!" she boomed. "He killed Mello! He has to fucking pay!" She angled her face towards his, despite the fact that she couldn't see his expression. "Aren't you mad? _Don't you feel sorry_?!"

When next he spoke, his tone was somber. "…Yes. I am, and that is why I want you to go back. I do not wish to lose you as well."

These words were enough to give her pause, and the scarred woman relaxed slightly in his grip. "Dammit," she mumbled.

_L cares about me. I know he does…and I care about him, too. I don't want to make him suffer because of me…_

_ But I can't let B go. I can't let him kill Mello and not do anything about it. And…and I don't want L to get hurt, either. Even if that means I have to die, too…I will. I'll do it for him. For them. _

"L…I'm sorry."

"How touching," B taunted, "but I'm afraid your time is up." She heard him take a step forward, and Lana's brows furrowed when he stumbled over his feet. An angry hiss issued from his throat. "What are you doing? How are you still able to move?"

"I'm…I'm not going to die that easily, asshole…"

She would know that voice anywhere; hope crested in her heart. _Mello…you're still alive…_

"Let go of me!"

Though she could hardly see what was going on, the scarred woman felt that she was able to see the twisted smirk on the blonde's face, and the vengeful gleam that she knew was in his eye as he held onto the serial killer's ankle.

A morbid snicker made its way out of Mello's throat. "Try and make me, you fucking prick."

And just like that, her resolve sprang back. Mello's strangled taunt was all she needed. With all the strength in her body, Lana shook L off of her, sending him off balance and springing to her feet. Everything after that seemed to move in slow motion, at least from her perspective.

The dark-haired woman plowed straight ahead, her eyes and ears set on B's struggling and distracted silhouette. In the very last second before she reached him, Lana closed her eyes and gripped the hilt of the knife close to her chest.

And then…she did what needed to be done.

* * *

_I cannot see._

_But I can hear, and I can feel, and what I felt in that moment was something that I'll never forget. I could feel his breath on my cheek, and I knew that even if I couldn't see them, his eyes were locked onto my face. He was probably shocked that I'd actually done it, given what he'd done to me earlier. He probably should've stabbed a little deeper._

_And I felt my hands, covered in the warmth of his blood as I held the knife in his stomach. And I twisted it, and I could hear his agonized breaths as my blade tore up his insides. But I didn't stop, and do you know why?_

_Because I was so angry. My hatred for a person had never been so strong. I thought I hated Light, but that was nothing compared to what I felt then. It was one thing to hurt me, but it was another to hurt the people I cared about. Of course, I learned not long after that it didn't really accomplish anything. Hurting him, I mean. Revenge is a hollow victory, and no matter how many people will tell you that it helps sometimes…_

_It never does. Believe me on that._

* * *

"You…"

B choked on his words, and the _clang _of his dropped knife echoed loudly in the silent hallway. Lana held firm; her hands shook on the hilt of the knife, but it was due more to rage than fear.

And then, she smiled.

"Me."

The serial killer hissed as the scarred woman twisted the knife in his gut, and she flinched at the inhuman noise he made. But it wasn't enough. She wanted him to suffer more for what he'd done, to curl up into a ball and wallow in agony until his last moments—

"Lana."

Her racing thoughts came to a screeching halt when she heard L's familiar monotone voice behind her.

When she didn't answer, he tried again.

"Lana, stop. Let go of the knife. It's over. You don't have to hold it anymore."

_But…I want him to suffer more…_

"Please, Lana."

She felt a fleeting touch on her wrist, and finally, she did as he asked. Her hand went limp, and she left the blade buried deep within B's stomach. Not long after she let go, she heard the serial killer's knees hit the linoleum, and she allowed herself to be pulled away from him by L's surprisingly gentle grip.

When he spoke, it was with an uncharacteristically somber tone, one that even left Lana feeling weak-kneed. "It didn't have to be this way, B," he said, sounding genuinely regretful. "If you had stopped when given the chance, this could have been avoided."

A weak snigger tore out of the fallen man's throat. "You keep saying that," he replied, "but it was always meant to be this way, L. There was never any other option for me after what happened. This world…wasn't made for people like you or me. You'll see. One day…you will."

B made a move to push himself to his feet, but before he could even get halfway Lana heard him crash back to the ground.

"You aren't going anywhere," Mello choked out. "I won't let you go. You're going to stay here with me. You guys…go."

Lana's heart began to race at a mile a minute; she could hardly believe his ridiculous request. "What? Mello, we can't leave you behind! You're coming with us—"

"No." He cut her off with a harsh tone. "…Sorry," he added weakly. "I won't. Can't you see that I'm beyond saving?"

Heat stung the back of her eyes, and it wasn't just from the injury she had sustained. The scarred woman struggled not to let her inner pain and conflict show. "No. I can't."

Both men went silent, as did B; the serial killer's silhouette had gone still. He was either already unconscious, or dangerously close to the brink of it.

Or, she added on, perhaps he had finally given up.

"What do you—" Mello started. He then paused when he realized what she was talking about. "…Oh. I get it. I didn't even notice until now…"

"What is it?" L spoke up, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Wait a moment…don't tell me that you are…"

Without a word, Lana craned her neck sideways to face his general direction. She swept her hair out of her face with one hand and displayed the fresh wound that B had given her.

"…I'm sorry," she said softly. "For not telling you."

L didn't answer her in words. Instead, the detective merely grabbed her by the wrist and began to pull her away from the two mortally wounded men.

"Wait!" she objected, digging her feet into the ground. "Where are we going? We can't leave without Mello! We have to at least try to save him—"

Suddenly, she felt L's breath fan over her face, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. He might have been staring into her eyes, but she couldn't be sure.

"Listen to me, Lana. Mello already told you himself. He isn't in any shape to escape. The infected people he let in are making their way up here, and the only safe exit is the window from the room that you were trapped in. It will be hard enough for me to save you. I cannot carry you both."

"But…" Lana resisted the urge to wipe her cheek as a single tear fell from her right eye; her mind was already occupied with the blonde friend who lied dying behind her. "But…"

"He's right, Lana," Mello coughed, his voice already starting to fade. "I'll just slow you two down. I might even get you killed. Now hurry up and go. The others still need you…"

He might have said more, but L didn't give her an opportunity to listen. He grabbed ahold of her wrist once again, and she felt herself being dragged back toward the room that had been her prison for who knows how long.

More tears fell from her eyes, but she didn't try to stop them.

_Mello…I'm sorry. Once again, I couldn't save someone I care about. I'm sorry for everything…I'm so, so sorry_…

* * *

"You fool. Why would you choose to die here with someone you hate?"

Mello could hardly hear B's voice over the chaotic din issuing from the floors below. Provided he wasn't just hearing things, it sounded as though the infected people were getting closer.

_It shouldn't be long now._

"Why not try to hide yourself in one of the other rooms?" B went on in a raspy voice. "You might survive."

Though it caused him severe pain to do so, the blonde man chuckled. His grip on the back of B's shirt tightened. "It should be obvious by now that I don't trust you. I'm not letting you go. Besides…I'll be dead in a few minutes anyway. You really did a number on me."

B ignored the latter half of his statement. "You're an…unusual man, Mello. Your nerve doesn't cease to amaze me. Not many would have been able to sustain your injuries for this long."

"You're being awfully chummy right now. I thought you'd be flipping out about getting beaten."

"I'm not a monster, you know. I might dwell on the past, but I know when I've lost. If you can't win, you might as well die. In any case, does dying here with me really not bother you?"

Mello never answered him. He heard B's question, but he chose not to address it. His mind drifted off, caught up in the thought that, in a few minutes' time, none of this would matter anymore. It was odd to think of it that way, and in a strange sense it was even somewhat comforting—to know that, at the very least, he had finally done something worthwhile.

His wound was still fucking painful, though. Thankfully, the agony had begun to fade, much in the same way his view of the tiled floor and hallway began to blur into nonexistence.

_This is it, huh? I'm surprised I lasted this long…but still, I'm really going to die here. This time it's real. No one's coming for me._

_But at least those two got away_.

As Mello lied there, bleeding out onto the cold floor, he began to wonder. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he thought about the future. He could picture it so clearly in his head—how the two of them, L and Lana, would meet back up with the rest of the group, battered and bloody but still alive. The others would be relieved at first, but then someone—probably Matt—would notice that he was missing. The mood would shift. Matt would ask where he was, and neither Lana nor L would want to tell him. But he knew them well—eventually L would spill the beans. And Matt would…

Well, he would move on. He had no choice. If Mello knew him at all, then he would suffer, of course. He would be shocked—maybe he would even be in denial for a while. For the last seven years, all they had was each other.

And that was why Mello knew he would be okay. Because now, Matt wasn't alone—not anymore. The others would help him. He would move on, and one day he would realize that he didn't need him as much as he thought he did.

And as for him…well, no one could help him anymore.

"_Do you believe in God, Mello?"_

The echo of Emilia's voice came out of nowhere, and it even shocked him that he was thinking of it. He remembered when she had asked him that question. He remembered the conversation vividly, and how in that moment just one question had seemed to define their relationship.

It was strange. Before the pandemic Mello had liked to believe in God, and meeting her had given him more optimism. Her despair had encouraged his hope. After she died, though, and after everything he had known vanished, his faith had seemed to wane.

Yet, here he was, living out his last moments—and he was thinking about God anyway. How ironic. Once again, she had given him faith—and she didn't even have to try.

_Sorry, Matt. You'll be fine without me. I've kept her waiting for too long, anyway. _

As the doors behind him and B burst open, and a swarm of infected people raced inside, Mello closed his eyes. He wrapped his hand around the rosary that hung from his neck, fingering the beads with a soft smile.

"_Do you believe in God, Mello?" _

In his last moments, he entertained the thought that he just might.

* * *

**Was that ending sad enough for you guys? Did you hate it because of what happened? Or did you hate it because it wasn't executed properly? I knew that this was going to happen for a while, but I spent too much time trying to figure out how to go about writing it. Did I do a good job? **

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	39. Clear

**Author's Note: Well, this is the unofficial last chapter for the story. The official one will be the next chapter, which is an epilogue, so stay tuned if you want to find out the rest of the story! **

**To Manic x: Yep. Sorry :)**

**To garnet86: I thought so too. There wasn't really any other way to end it; I wanted to give Mello's POV one last time. I hope this chapter comes as somewhat of a surprise to you! **

**And yes, I did have a merry Christmas. Thank you!**

**To RaspberryDiamonds: No, unfortunately for Mello, it cannot be helped. It's cool that you saw it coming, though. I tried to foreshadow it a little in the previous chapters. **

**To version15: I'm sorry if I made you sad. I hope these last few chapters will make up for it, or at least be a little bittersweet! Glad you liked it :)**

**To WildfireDreams: Yeah, unfortunately the odds don't look good for our blonde friend. At least it seems like B's gotten his comeuppance, though, wouldn't you say?**

**To Lily Resh: Because it had to be done. I'm sorry! **

**To WhiteLadyDragon: I apologize if my story upset you. I'm glad you liked it, though. I really like Mello as well, so I do hope I did him justice—well, technically I didn't, since he died, but you know what I mean. Thanks for the review! **

**Warnings: Profanity, Mature Content.**

* * *

**Chapter 39: Clear**

_Why couldn't I do anything? Why does Mello have to die? Why did we both just stand there and do nothing while B stabbed him?_

_ Why?_

Lana flinched as the door slammed shut behind her, the piece of wood finally and irrevocably separating her and L from the friend who was dying just on the other side. Tears still burned at the back of her eyes, but she tried to force them back for the sake of retaining her composure. Her muscles were still coiled and shaking with adrenaline and fear, but they refused to budge as L's command reverberated in the back of her mind. Her hands, still soaked in B's blood, were itching to tear back open the door and drag the blonde to safety along with them, even though she knew deep down that doing so would only be a waste of time.

_A waste of time…Mello deserves better than that. He deserves another chance just like all of us. Besides, what have I done to help the others? What makes me so worth saving_?

But she knew that saving him would never happen—not with how the door slammed shut with finality. Both L and Mello himself had made the decision already.

The scarred woman stiffened when L released her wrist, and she continued to stand stock-still as she listened to him tamper with something on the other side of the room.

_Another door? No—a window. _

"L, what are you doing?" She despised how her voice shook.

"Helping us escape." He told her this matter-of-factly, and the sound of a final click caused the woman's ears to perk up. "Just wait a moment, please."

Lana nodded silently, and frowned when she realized she was uncertain if he was looking at her.

From below the distant echoes of people screaming grew louder, and her blood ran cold when she recalled that there were infected people in the building—and Mello was defenseless on the other side of the door.

_If he's still alive_.

It was completely irrational, but she didn't want to leave without knowing.

"That will do," L said, his voice closer now that he had finished opening the window; Lana could tell by the sudden breeze she felt in the air, ten steps up from the stuffy atmosphere she had spent the last few days in. "We can go now. I've opened the window, and it should be theoretically possible for us to climb out without being interrupted by any of the infected people."

He may have held out his hand to her, but Lana didn't bother wondering about it. Instead she hesitated.

And, of course, L understood what was on her mind before even she did. "Mello made his choice. We have to leave now, Lana." When she still didn't answer, he lowered his voice subtly. "Come on."

When her silence continued unabated, L finally did something that she had yet to see: he lost his patience. He grabbed ahold of her wrist with lightning-fast reflexes, and though she struggled against his hold it did nothing to faze him. He started to drag her over to the window, and on instinct she panicked. She pulled away from him with all her might, leaving herself slightly dizzy when her head whipped backwards.

_Right. Blood loss, not to mention that I still have sedatives in my system. How the fuck am I still awake? _"What the hell are you doing? Let go of me!"

"We've already been over this, Lana," the detective told her in a rushed tone, his composure faltering when his grip became unbreakable; it even sent a shock of pain up the young woman's arm. His hand was like a vice, and he refused to let go even when she viciously strained against his pull.

_Since when was he so strong? Has he always been this way? _

L continued talking during her dumbstruck silence, now speaking in rapid clipped sentences. "Mello is dead. He was dead from the moment B stabbed him. He knew this was a possibility, and he accepted the risk so that he could bring you back. You are the reason he gave his life today. If you were to throw that away all for a zero-point-zero-zero-two percent chance of saving him instead, you would be doing him a grave disservice—as would I if I let you. In the interest of ensuring that Mello's sacrifice was not pointless, I refuse to allow you to put yourself in harm's way." L sighed, his tone suddenly world-weary. "And, if I am being honest, seeing you get hurt any more than you already are would cause me pain as well."

Her breath got stopped up in her throat, and her eyes burned more intensely than before. "L…"

"Now come with me."

She didn't know how she could tell, but Lana knew that, even if she couldn't see it, L was holding out his hand to her. It was something about the way he spoke; she could so clearly picture him making this gesture to her, a gesture that she was almost certain he had never offered to anyone else.

He wanted her to live, and so did she. She was a liability, but he was going to try to save her regardless. It may have just been an aftereffect of the drugs, but Lana felt like collapsing onto her knees right then and there.

_Am I really being offered another chance_?

Tentatively, she held out her hand, and he took it with no questions asked. She had never thought about how L's hand would feel clasped in hers, but it was surprisingly warm—much like he himself was, she added on. She remembered being surprised that he didn't feel like a slab of marble when she had first touched him, and even now she still couldn't believe that he was human.

But he was. The pads of his fingers were rough from what she assumed were years of reading, but they lacked any of the jagged scars and callouses that hers possessed. The disparity between their starkly different pasts could be seen just in the lines of their palms.

_Have we ever even held hands before? How haven't I noticed this? Maybe…maybe it's because I'm different now. We both are._ It was funny; she had finally noticed this fact now that she could no longer see him.

Lana felt the cool breeze from outside intensify as L led her towards the window, and a moment later his hand released hers. When he let go, her palm suddenly felt empty.

"Are you ready?" he asked her; his voice seemed more distant now. She wondered if he had turned around.

She swallowed nervously. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"Just climb on my back. We have no choice but to use the window, and due to your injuries, I will have to carry you."

"But…" _But you could get hurt. You fought B already. You're in no condition to be taking care of someone else right now_. Of course, she didn't say any of this out loud. She had a feeling he would disregard it anyway, and now wasn't the time to start another fight.

"You can do this, Lana. Just hold on. I'll do the rest."

_Since when did he become so…selfless?_ Lana foresaw many scenarios for this situation, one of which involved them both falling to their deaths as L struggled with her added bulk on his back. This idea was reckless, dangerous, and completely impractical. Surely the detective must have realized how ridiculous he sounded, but all he did was continue to wait in silence for her answer.

On the other side of the door and below her feet, Lana heard the distorted cries of the infected grow louder.

The chaos and danger of this situation was enough to make her hesitate, but as it always did, L's calm aura relaxed her. He never balked in the face of adversity, as many people did. He remained tranquil—most of the time, anyway—and found a way to get out of it. So, even with the possibility of death hanging over their heads, Lana knew that there was only one thing she could do.

She trusted L.

It was difficult to maneuver her body while not being able to see, but eventually she managed to position herself on L's back without choking him. The detective grunted as he lifted her, and she tightened her legs around his waist. He turned around, and Lana buried her nose in his shoulder as she felt cold air hit her back. The sensation of hovering in midair caused her stomach to drop from beneath her feet, and the scarred woman clung tighter to L as he descended the side of the building. She even squeezed her eyes shut, though that did nothing to relieve the tension in her body.

"Relax," he told her, and the vibration of his voice soothed her nerves a bit. She tried to do what he said; she really did, but when a hideous shout emanated from in front of them, Lana began to panic. She bit down on the cry that tried to leave her throat as L hurriedly repositioned himself, dropping down a few inches in the process.

"There are some infected people at the windows above and below us," L said, his voice still calm. "Some of them are open. If we continue to climb, they may knock us off. I am going to let go, Lana."

"What?" she gasped. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He continued talking as though she hadn't spoken. "There is a dumpster below us. If I let go, we should survive the fall. Do not let go of me."

She was about to voice her protest, but before Lana could even get a word out, the figurative rug was pulled from beneath her.

She didn't scream as she fell; Lana bit down on her tongue as the air whooshed by her, and desperately clung onto L as they fell towards the ground. Her lack of vision made the long fall even more disorienting, and the scarred woman resisted the urge to vomit. She half-expected to land on the hard ground.

But then, with force that knocked the air from her lungs, she instead landed on something else—to be more precise, she landed on what felt like a pile of garbage bags. At least they cushioned her fall, though the landing still left every inch of her body aching with nerves and prior injuries; her head spun with the sudden halt of movement, and her stomach churned as a result of her disorientation.

Her ears roared, the sound almost like that of a nearby waterfall. Idly, Lana thought that she might have hit her head. She couldn't recall such a thing happening, but she supposed it might have slipped her mind...she was having a hard time sifting through her thoughts right now, after all.

In any case, a blow to the skull might explain why the world refused to stop moving. It didn't bother her, though. She could still sense L's presence nearby, and as she reached out blindly she could feel his hand entwine with hers once more.

It was still warm.

"_Lana?" _

His voice was distant as well, hollow and ringing in her ears as though they were stuck in a tunnel. The scarred woman suspected that if she could see, she would be seeing double, but somehow this didn't concern her. She was exhausted.

"_Lana, can you hear me?" _

Was she not moving? Oh, yeah. Her eyes probably weren't open, not that she could tell either way. She should do something, though, something that would tell the others she was okay… She squeezed L's hand by way of answering, but he didn't reciprocate. His grip went slack instead.

"_L?" _

Another voice approached them. This one was female, and without looking Lana correctly placed it as belonging to Itzel.

"_What the hell's goin' on over here? Is she dead?! Answer me, you bastard!" _

_Yep. That's definitely Itzel. _

As soon as she thought that, firm hands began to fondle her; they jostled her prone body with frustrated fingers, knocking her every which way until she gave a grunt of discomfort.

"_Stop it! You're hurting her!" _

"_Like she cares. Look at her! Holy shit…her clothes are damn near soaked in blood." _

_They are? Really? I hadn't noticed…_

"_Not all of it is hers." _

"_Well at least there's that. Wait a minute…where's Blondie?" _

_Mello's dead_, she thought hopelessly, her wounds now stinging far more than they had been earlier. _We left him behind. _

"_We can talk about that later. He didn't make it out. I'm sorry." _

_He's gone. _

The noises around her dimmed, and all of a sudden Lana was left in a vacuum of silence. The conversation between Itzel and L grew louder; more voices had joined the scene, but she wasn't able to make any of them out. The sounds began to blend together into one long roar that drowned out even her own thoughts.

_What's going on?_

"_Lana?" _

A pair of hands shook her again, and her fingers went limp as the hand holding hers suddenly let go.

_L? Where did he go?_ She shivered violently as a wave of ice washed over her body. _Damn…it's really cold. That's right…it should be almost winter by now, shouldn't it? I bet blood loss doesn't help, though…_

"_Lana!"_

_It smells bad. This garbage must've been here for years…_

Eventually, even the cries of her own name began to fade, but one thought remained present in her mind above all the others.

_That's right…I'm not alone. He's still here. _

_I'll be fine._

And this time, she truly believed it.

* * *

It hurt to move.

To be blunt, it felt as though her entire body had been forced through several layers of hell. Nearly every inch of her skin stung horribly; this was the first thing she noticed when she became aware.

The second was that she was actually alive.

_I'm alive… How am I alive? Why…? After everything that's happened…_

_Why am I still here? _

Lana had the feeling that she had been asleep for a while. Call it intuition, but her numb backside, combined with the fact that her body felt as though it were heavy as lead, also spoke volumes about how long she had been unconscious. Her eyelids stuck together painfully when she tried to open them, and when light didn't immediately assault her vision the scarred woman had a brief moment of panic. Clarity returned to her soon enough, and she recalled her newfound disability. Her vision hadn't improved since she had been asleep; she still saw only dark gray blobs, though admittedly this was better than nothing. Of course, it didn't make a bit of difference when she stared at what she assumed was a blank ceiling.

_Where am I, anyway?_

Lana reached up to run the tips of her fingers across her newest scar, and flinched when she accidentally prodded the sensitive skin too hard.

"Ow," she whined out loud, squeezing her eye shut again. _I'll have to get used to that._

"You shouldn't touch it yet," a new—and very familiar—voice told her. "At least, that's what Sayu told me."

The young woman sat bolt upright. Her hands gripped the surface she was lying on, and she instantly recognized it as being soft, much softer than the cot she had been sleeping on as of late. _That voice, though… _"Matt? Is that you?"

When the brunette next spoke, she could hear the smile in his voice. "It's me. It's nice to see you awake. It's about time you came back to the world of the living."

She didn't cry. She refused to, but a lump still formed in her throat when she heard Matt's voice. _It's really him. He made it out…but what about the others? _She couldn't find it within herself to ask about it; she didn't think she could handle hearing any more bad news. "Matt…" she started, her voice quivering with unspoken emotion.

He sighed sadly when he noticed her shift in tone. "I know. I know about Mello. You don't have to say it."

Lana bit her lip. He sounded so lost, so empty now that his best friend for all these years was gone. She could only imagine how he was feeling, but she sure as hell didn't want to.

Some friend she was. "Matt, I'm so sor—"

"You don't have to say it," he interrupted her. "I know what happened. He—he made his choice. Mello chose to save you over himself. I would've done the same thing."

This time her eyes really did fill with tears, but she didn't do anything to stop them. Crying seemed to be all she could do lately. "Are you…okay?"

Matt said nothing for a few seconds, and privately Lana thought that her question was idiotic. Of course he wasn't okay, and he might not be for the rest of his life. None of them were.

So Matt's response, when he eventually got around to it, took her by surprise. "It's weird," he told her, sounding genuinely puzzled by his own reply. "I'm not okay. Not at all. How could I be, with Mello being…you know. To think that he's just…gone. It doesn't make any sense. You know, I always thought that I'd be the one to die first, not him. He was always stronger than me. But…I feel like I will be—okay, I mean. Not now, of course, but…with time, maybe. Itzel's been helping me deal with it."

_Helping him? How long have I been asleep?_ "That's…great, Matt." Even hearing the word "great" leave her mouth under these circumstances made her want to hurl. "Really…I hope it works. I know it will. You're a strong guy, too. You shouldn't sell yourself short."

Silence engulfed the two of them, but this time it was fraught with tension. Lana desperately wanted to know what was going on and where she was, but she couldn't find it within her capabilities to ask.

Fortunately, Matt seemed to sense her urgency. "We're back at the laboratory. You've been asleep for almost eight days. Some of us—not me, I swear—were worried that you wouldn't wake up. Your injuries…they were pretty bad. But Sayu said you would. She said…she said she refused to let her father's death be for nothing."

At that, Lana's stomach sank once again. "Her father's…death? Soichiro…is dead?"

Matt sighed again. "I don't want you to find out later. He came to find us at the school B was keeping you at. He ended up getting killed... He saved all of us, Lana. He…he did it. He found a cure."

"A cure?"

"A cure for P.H.D. That was why he came to see us—he wanted to make sure we were safe from infection. It's amazing...it turned out that the cure was right under our noses all along. It's the iron that was in your blood, Lana. Sayu told us everything, about how you got slashed in the eye with an iron knife way back when the infection started. It was in her father's notes. With high levels of iron in the blood, the virus can't spread. Your scar saved you."

She was certain her ears must have been deceiving her; perhaps she had hit her head harder than she thought. She heard everything that he had said, but one realization stood out to her above all the rest. Soichiro couldn't be dead—he had stayed behind with Aizawa and the others! And now Matt was telling her that he was dead, that he had found a cure and died just to make sure they all got it?

She didn't believe it.

"What…you can't be serious. Why did he…?" _Why did he sacrifice himself just for a slim chance of saving us? What about his life? What about his daughter? Did none of that matter to him? Was saving us worth it? _

_If so, why? _

"I see you're awake. I heard you two talkin' in the other room," a booming voice called out from what Lana guessed was the doorway. "It's about time you woke up. I was thinkin' about just dumping you off the bed."

"Itzel," the scarred woman breathed out. She was aghast at the realization that her best friend was alive as well; she hadn't had time to think about it, what with everything that had happened, and Lana felt more than guilty. "You're alive." She should have expected it—given the large woman's apparently unstoppable nature—but hearing proof made her eyes well up again.

"Of course I am. Who do ya think you're talkin' to? I've busted my way out of a burning building. You really think I'm gonna let a few hundred crazies stop me from savin' you?"

Lana subtly tried to wipe her eye. "I thought you might say something like that."

Itzel snickered at the other woman's resigned tone of voice. "Well, anyway, I came to get the skinny guy. And, uh, I brought someone with me. I figured you guys'd wanna talk, so he's waitin' in the hallway in case you're ready."

"…He can come in."

Somehow Lana felt his presence as soon as he entered the room. She had never noticed before how quiet his footsteps were, and how well placed each one was so as to avoid creating any sort of disturbance aside from a subtle vibration underfoot. Lana could feel it, though; she could feel him loud and clear.

"…L."

* * *

"Where are we going?"

"Well, given the circumstances, there are not many safe places that we can go for privacy."

Lana sighed as she treaded slowly after L; his wrist and confident stride were the only things that guided her way. Although she recognized where they were—the familiar scent of the lab did not go unnoticed—it was highly disconcerting to feel so vulnerable. Without sight, she hardly recognized where to put her feet in order to avoid tripping; even with L's help, she stumbled a few times. "Well, then..." she said, "let's at least go outside. Is that okay?"

L thought for a moment, and it frustrated her to no end that she couldn't see the look on his face—not that she really believed it would help her to figure out how he was feeling. Lana suspected that the detective, no matter what he had said and how he had acted before, was still painfully stoic. And, in a tragic way, she felt cheated by the realization that she would never know him as being any different.

"…I don't see why not," he finally said, his hand still lax within her grip. "You have been declared as being immune to the virus, after all, so going outside should not be a problem."

"What about you?"

"Sayu gave all of us the injection. Since none of us have shown any ill effects, it is safe to say that the vaccine works."

The scarred woman nodded her head distractedly. She had very nearly forgotten her unusual condition altogether. Amidst all the chaos of the last few days, she had not given much thought to her apparent immunity to the virus. Given how much Soichiro—her heart jolted again at the thought of the Surgeon General—had been baffled by this discovery, she was amazed that it had managed to slip her mind. But it had—and, as she recalled this bit of information now, she found that it didn't make her as happy as it ought to.

"That hardly matters," Lana replied cynically as she felt them turn a corner. "It's not like I cared about being infected, anyway. I don't mean that I want to die, it's just…no one wants that, but I think we all kind of expect it to happen to us one day. The fact that I know it won't happen to me doesn't change the fact that I and all the others are still stranded here." _Unless you keep your promise to me, but you already told me that it was a lie, anyway. _

_Has that much changed, L? _

The last part, of course, went unsaid. L himself stayed silent for the rest of their journey outside, but Lana was already accustomed to his emotionless behavior. She didn't think much of it. A jolt of alarm went through her only when she heard a door open in front of them, and not long after a chill wind hit her face.

"I was right!" She spoke suddenly and before thinking, and inwardly she cursed her appalling non sequitur.

"I beg your pardon?"

Lana felt her cheeks warm; she was certain that L was shooting a bewildered expression her way. Her hand tightened around his wrist. "I was right," she repeated, her tone of voice much more controlled this time around. "I remember thinking about how cold it was right before I passed out, but I thought that it was just because of the blood loss. Or that I had just imagined it."

L thought for a moment before replying. "Well, I suppose that makes sense. If my calculations are accurate, then in the few months that have passed since I arrived here the season has changed to winter. The transition was hardly noticeable—we are in Los Angeles, after all. Anyway, it has been cold and cloudy for the past few days."

Lana felt her brows furrow. "Cloudy?"_ I didn't even notice._

"Yes."

"…Let's sit down."

The scarred woman held her patience as L led her farther outside; he sat her down on what felt like a curb, and probably was. She sensed the detective sit down beside her, and without saying a word she lifted her head towards the sky. Lana tried to open her airways, so that she could breathe in the identifying scents of a cloudy day.

It felt very familiar, she realized.

"Rain."

Lana felt L lean closer to her. "Rain," he repeated in a monotone.

The woman nodded. "Yeah. Rain. It's going to rain today. It's still light out, isn't it?"

"…Yes. How did you know?"

"I can still see light. Some of it, at least. Are there a lot of clouds in the sky right now?" She angled her face towards where she figured L's was. He went quiet for longer than she expected, and to be frank, it made her uncomfortable. She felt as though he was scrutinizing her, and with a jolt Lana realized that this very well might be the case.

_Is he just…staring at me? _

Her question was answered—rather intrusively, she might add—when all of a sudden she felt warm breath ghosting across her face. Her whole body tensed up when she felt him draw closer, and she fought the instinct to either lean away or towards him. She couldn't decide between the two, and his obvious proximity combined with her handicap did nothing to soothe her nerves.

"I'd almost forgotten," he finally said.

"What are you talking about?"

"You aren't looking at me," he told her. "I know you can't see. Sayu told me that it would be a miracle if you could see again one day, and that the damage B did to your eye was too extensive for her to fix. And, as you know, the longer an injury such as yours goes untreated, the harder it will be to correct."

"…I know." He leaned away from her, and his next words sent a dull ache through her heart.

"However, I do find myself wishing that you could look at me. It makes me feel like you are not listening."

Lana expected to feel offended, but instead L's admission only made her even more morose than she already was. He was right, she thought; she was probably never going to be able to really look at him again, just as B had told her. She would never see his face in the same way.

However…if this were to be so, then she would actually be fine with it; at least she would still have the memories she did. Even without sight, she could still see him perfectly in her mind, and that was all she needed to have.

"Quit being so sentimental," she said bitingly. "It doesn't suit you."

"My apologies. I was only being honest. It's true what they say about old habits, you know."

"And I was only kidding." Lana felt her mouth contort into a grin, and a dry huff of a laugh escaped her lips. It didn't last long, and her continuous frown came back with a vengeance. "You shouldn't worry about it. It's not as bad as you might think."

"What isn't?"

"Being blind," she replied, her mouth stumbling over the words. Even now she didn't think she could get used to the thought of being blind, of not being able to see where she was going when she walked down the street or through a building. She supposed that was to be expected. It would take her a very long time to grow accustomed to the dark veil over her eyes, and the prospect of conquering this newest challenge was daunting.

But that was all collateral, she reasoned. She had lost so much more than just her vision—she had lost her family, her old friends, her home…

And at the same time, she had gained a lot as well—her new friends, a renewed perspective, and, above all else, L. He was the man she had decided to risk everything for, and who had done the same for her. Though she had doubted him several times, Lana had always managed to find her way back to the quirky detective. It seemed, after all this time spent losing everything she had left to give, she still couldn't manage to let go of him.

"Even though I can't see, you don't need to worry," she told him, holding her voice firm. "I might hurt myself by accident. I might trip over things—hell, I know I will. I won't be able to read or write normally, not that I did much of that anyway. But in the grand scheme of things, none of that matters. Besides, I always did like a challenge." She paused for a moment. "But that's not the point. Even through all of that, no matter what happens, I'll still have my memories. I can't unsee those—every image I have of you and the others, and of the time we spent together. I won't forget any of it. Right now I can even picture you sitting beside me. I can see your face clearly in my mind, like you're talking to me. I can picture all of those little things you do."

"My mannerisms?"

"Yeah. When you ask questions, you either cock your head or look up. It's like you're already thinking up the answers yourself! And you hardly smile, but when you do it looks sly, like you're planning something. Sometimes it just seems like you're off in your own little world." Idly, Lana brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Do you get it? That's all I need. The time I had to see was more than enough for me. It's more than I ever thought I'd get or deserve. I'm actually surprised I'm not dead."

Silence befell the two of them, and privately the scarred woman worried about how he would respond. As it turned out, she didn't need to.

"I had no idea you had observed so much about me," he said, "but I believe I understand what you're saying." His voice sent a jolt of electricity through her spine. "I suppose that I could also say the same about you. For instance, were you aware that you sometimes talk in your sleep?"

Lana choked on the air in her lungs. "What?"

"Yes, it's true. I watched you frequently while we were traveling together. Also, did you know that when you frown, you never make eye contact with anyone? I believe it's more of a reflex than an aversion to eye contact itself. Even now, with your blindness, you still do so. But when you smile, though the action is unfortunately a rare occurrence, it reaches all corners of your face. It's quite appealing to look at."

Lana grinned sarcastically. "You can stop now. For some reason when you say this sort of stuff it just sounds creepy."

"I am who I am."

"Are you just mimicking me now?"

"No. These are my honest thoughts. Do you not believe me?"

"…No. I do. It might not seem like it from how I act, but I do trust you, L. I'll admit, there were times when I even thought I hated you, but they didn't last. You haven't let me down yet."

"…Do you truly believe that?"

Lana figured that he would ask something along those lines; L was nothing if not thorough in his line of questioning, even when it came to other people's opinions on his own character. She had never understood that about him—hardly anyone _wants_ to know everything about everything, especially when it will only cause them pain—but in that moment, she finally did. He needed to know what was going on in the minds of the people around him because that was all he had to engage himself with. L didn't care about trivial things; he hardly interacted with the outside world. On the rare occasions when he found a mind of relatively equal caliber to engage with, he tended to latch onto it.

She understood that now, and she also understood that he would not let hers go so easily. Their time together had affected the both of them far more than she thought, and it showed in his actions. He wasn't returning a favor by saving her life, nor was he fulfilling an empty promise. He had acted on his own emotions.

That was enough for her.

"Yeah, actually. I do."

She felt L shift beside her. "Then you are far more foolish than I initially thought," he concluded; the jab at her intelligence, presented so soon after her humble thoughts, made her see red. She was about to protest loudly, but his next line stopped her short. "After all that I've done—after what B told you about me—you still want to remain by my side? Even after I lied to you about taking you home, even now that you know about my past negligence as a detective, how can you still want to be near me? I assume that anyone else would have given up long before now."

"Because…" The scarred woman struggled to find the words she was looking for—the ones that would finally make all of her feelings clear.

And, when she found them, the words flowed from her lips like water from a spring. "None of that matters anymore. You saved me—I know you did, no matter how much you claim it was all so you could catch B. Sure, if you'd asked me a few months ago, I would've said you were an asshole who uses people for his own gain—hell, I might've even said that a few weeks ago. But that's the difference." Lana paused for a moment to release an ironic laugh. "It's funny. Now that I'm blind, it all seems so clear. Now…well, now I…"

"You love me," L finished.

A tiny smile graced her features. "Well…yeah."

"And I love you too?"

"You say that like it's a question."

"…Well, I can't say that I've been in love before, so I have nothing to compare it to. You'll have to forgive me if I seem hesitant. In any case, we will have plenty of time to work on my ineptitude."

Lana raised a brow. "Are you talking nonsense again? Time isn't exactly a virtue in a place like this."

When he spoke, she thought she could sense the barest hint of a smile in his voice. "I'm sure Matt wished to tell you this himself once you woke up, but shortly after you lost consciousness I received a call from Watari, my associate. I told him that I solved the case, and during the ensuing conversation I mentioned that Surgeon General Soichiro Yagami, whom the U.N. had presumed to be dead, had found a cure for P.H.D. right before he died. It has since been repeatedly tested by Sayu, and confirmed effective at eradicating the virus." L took a pause, and Lana found herself itching with impatience.

_He didn't…what does this mean? Are they going to start distributing the vaccine in other parts of the world? _"And?"

"And, on a side note, I happened to mention the names of several people who had helped me on this case."

Suddenly, the ground felt as though it had been pulled out from underneath her. _He…he can't be serious…_

"And," the detective continued, disregarding what Lana was certain was her own slack-jawed expression, "seeing as how you have all been declared either immune or vaccinated, there is no reason to leave you behind when I return. Watarai has already sent a retrieval vessel heading for Los Angeles. Of course, you will all have to remain under close medical supervision to ensure that no biological hazards are present in your systems, so I'm afraid your passage will be somewhat difficult. I am confident that…"

Lana had already stopped listening, and she was certain that he could tell; right now he was only talking to himself. Her ears had closed, and her face was angled towards the sky.

_Is this real? He's telling me that I can go back to a normal world? After all this time…it's been so long since I've even thought about going back to civilization. I probably wouldn't fit in very well…can I even make it on my own, anyway? All I really want is to go home…but I can't. My home doesn't exist anymore. It's filled with the corpses of my family. _

…_But I can't stay here. If I leave this place, I'll have a real chance to start over. I can find another job, maybe even go to school…_

_And I can stay with him. I won't have to say goodbye to him or to anyone else. Sure, being in a new place won't be a cakewalk, but at least it's some semblance of what I could have had before all this happened. I can do this. I can make something out of myself. _

_I can live again. _

"_Survive, Lana! Just survive!" _

_I'll do you one better, Dad_, Lana thought as the first drop of rainwater hit her face. It smelled distinctly of winter, and of all the time she had lost over these past few years.

_I won't just survive. I'll live. _

As the rain began to fall in thick pellets, neither of the two moved. Strangely enough, Lana was reminded of that old, dirty Brita filter she used to have in her room at Waterfront. The clock was old, and the water inside was muddy and filled with silt, clouded over with filth. She used to rinse it out on days like these, to refill the dirty canister with clean water from the sky. She had given up this venture about four years ago.

Now, she thought of the contraption with a certain fondness. The darkest days of her life, each one counted on the filter, had passed, and with them had come a renewed outlook on what the rest of it had in store for her. In many ways, Lana felt as though she now had a clean slate; she wanted to move on, and she had all the time in the world to do so—with the quirky detective along for the ride.

The water was finally clear.

* * *

**Well, one more chapter and then this story is officially over. I'm starting to get sad. **

—**Vicious Ventriloquist**


	40. Epilogue: The Life Manifesto

** Author's Note: Well, this is it—the final chapter of **_**Barbed Wire Fences**_**. I must say that I'm sadder than I thought I'd be—in a good way, though. It's been a lot of fun (even if it was sometimes difficult to crank out another chapter). Without further ado, I will proceed with the final installment of review responses. Other stuff will come at the end of this chapter, so make sure to stick around :)**

** To WildfireDreams: I'm sad about Mello too, but I knew from the beginning that I was going to kill him off. I thought it was a fitting end for him. I hope you like this chapter!**

** To RaspberryDiamonds: So am I, but I'm happy you liked it enough to stick around! And you're right, I didn't want to make it too long. I think this story ended up being a pretty good length, eh?**

** To garnet86: I myself got sort of emotional while I was writing these last two chapters, haha. I guess that just shows how invested I was in the story, and I'm glad it paid off! Of course I had to have Lana and L interaction in the last chapter, but I didn't want to make it too cliché. I can only hope this ending is suitable for you :) I hope you had a lovely New Year's as well! **

** To version15: That's the way I like to think about it. I like happy endings, but I believe there should be a bit of a bittersweet feeling to them. As for the plot point you're talking about—Itzel was talking to Mogi. He and Aizawa watched out for her after she escaped Waterfront; that's how she had the walkie-talkie and everything, and that's how Mogi was able to help her save Mello when B burned down the radio station. However, she didn't want Lana to find out and think that she was betraying them (since Mogi worked for Light and all that). I apologize if any of that was unclear! **

** To vampireprincessofempire: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it! **

** Warnings: Mature Content, Lemon, Profanity.**

**NOTE: This chapter is my take on what happens after the story's official end. If you like the way the last chapter ended and don't like this one, feel free to pretend it doesn't exist.**

* * *

**Epilogue: The Life Manifesto**

_Well, I guess that's that. I think I've covered everything, haven't I? I mean, apart from the obvious, what else can I tell you? It's not like you weren't there for most of it. You always were one of the more perceptive ones, anyway. You know more about me than most people ever will—except for him, of course. _

_ My life's been nothing but a chaotic mess, at least until we came here. But you want to know something? I wouldn't change a thing about it. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot that I wish hadn't happened, but as for the way it ended up? Well, there's something to be said for not looking a gift horse in the mouth. It's funny; I used to think that life lessons were nonsense, you know. I thought it was all a bunch of meaningless cheesy dialogue—and a lot of it is—but I realize now that some of it is actually pretty damn accurate. _

_ I was nothing back then. I was no one. All I had was a shriveled heart, and it took everyone I knew dying to make me come out of that victim-playing stupor. Can you believe that I actually felt bad for myself? I tried not to show it, but I was tactless and rude, arrogant and brash even with the people I'd known for years. _

_ But then I met him. He came into my life pretty unexpectedly; he came with a confident stride and a face that told me he wasn't going to take any of my shit sitting down. And he didn't. I hit him hard the first time we met, but he didn't take that without a fight. To this day I still find myself cringing when I think about it. I've apologized, but he tends to just ignore it when I do. He says that we were unwilling comrades back then, and to forget about it. The past is the past, right? _

_ Wrong. That day was probably the most important of my life, though I didn't realize it at the time. I met him, and the rest of you followed. But there was something else about him that stood out; he frustrated me more than I could ever have imagined. He was an insufferable man—cold, rude, and more arrogant than I could ever hope to be, but he was also rational to a fault. It took me a long time to realize that there were good things about him, too. He was absolutely ridiculous at times, but as we learned to survive together something changed. I tried not to show it, but as time passed I gained a new perspective. _

_ I came to a conclusion: that yes, he was an ass, but he was also endearing. Often he was utterly clueless about social cues, and several times I had to stop myself from bursting into laughter. On a few occasions, I actually did. He always looked at me like I'd grown a second head, and even now I can tell that he sometimes still does. I don't know how, but I can. _

_ He was always the more honest one of the two of us, even if it meant insulting someone—me included. The term "euphemism" isn't in his vocabulary, apparently. That doesn't matter, though; regardless of how angry he makes me, I know that he won't lie. How many people do you know who do that? Well, apart from you. _

_ And somewhere along the way, I think he started to feel the same as me. He was learning to be human one day at a time, just like I was. This game we played…it makes me think, even to this day. The way we tried to deny our emotions, to rationalize them, ended up being nothing more than a futile attempt at denying the inevitable. I think now that being together opened a door to both of our hearts, as cheesy as that sounds. The hearts we thought we'd lost turned out to be there all along—it was just a matter of finding them. Now, I even surprise myself with how little I cared back then. I was so apathetic; I had no regard for my own life. I was reckless and stupid. What fools we both were. _

_ But the more time I had to reflect on the situation, the more time I had to make connections with him and the others, the more I began to establish my trust in him. Even though I knew that sticking with him was potentially dangerous, I went along with it anyway. I was already too far gone, and so were the others. He has a way about him, doesn't he? A way of making people put their faith in him. It's like you know he'll find the solution, no matter what the problem is. I won't say that this reasoning always made me come out on top, though. There were times when I thought that being with others made me weaker, and that he actually didn't care as much as I wanted him to. I'm sure that was even true at one point. The curtain came down, and suddenly it felt like we were more distant, that we were held apart by a paper-thin sheet of distrust—or at least I was. My faith in him diminished. _

_ Fortunately, it didn't last long. I gave into my feelings—we both did—and completely disregarded all logic. For once, he listened to me, and I did the same for him. It wasn't about the case he wanted to solve, or about the problems with our plan—it was about us. Just us. _

_ Does the heart speak? It felt like it did, in that moment. It didn't even feel like I was talking. I would've been mortified by some of the things I said. I wasn't as emotionally open as I am now._

_Sometimes I think I can hear it when I'm with him. I can speak more frankly about my feelings now. A hush falls over the room, and suddenly it's as though there's nothing else around but him and I. It sounds crazy, right? Well, don't worry. I haven't completely lost my marbles yet. Beyond didn't mess me up that bad. I think by now I've found my peace with what he did to me. I wonder if he ever did, in his last moments…_

…_Anyway, to make a long story short, he became my savior. There was a brief time when I thought we were all going to die, and the only thing that got me through it was having hope that he would succeed—hope, something that I thought I had lost. But it wasn't gone, and when the deadlock broke all I could think about was that I had to protect everyone. I had to keep you safe. What I did…it was all for you guys—for you, for them, and for him. Unlike before, I didn't want to save you for my own sake. It's all so clear now that_

"I hate to interrupt, but are the two of you done yet?"

Near stopped writing at the sound of the young woman's voice, his pen veering off the page as he wrote the last word dictated to him. He didn't respond; the person dictating what he wrote did that for him.

"We're almost done," she informed the other woman jokingly. "Don't get your panties in a knot, Sayu. Near's doing me a favor, you know."

"That may be," the brunette said lightheartedly, "but he can't spend all day listening to you babble like an old woman. What are you doing, anyway? You said you wanted to borrow him for a while. Why is he copying down your life story?"

Lana cackled good-naturedly. "First of all, I'm not that old yet. Besides, you're only seven years younger than me. I'd check myself at the door if I were you. And second of all, Near's helping me because I've decided to take up writing again."

"That's a bit ironic, don't you think?"

"I prefer to think of it as symbolic. Anyway, Near doesn't mind, right?" The dark-haired woman angled her face towards the boy—no, he was a man now, she reminded herself, even if she could only remember him as being the former—and raised a pensive brow.

There were a few moments of nervous shuffling before the white-haired man responded. "Helping you with your writing does not bother me," he said, "but my fingers are getting tired. I believe we've been doing this since eight o'clock in the morning."

"Well, what time is it now?"

"…One-thirty."

Lana muttered under her breath, while Sayu chuckled victoriously. "There, see? Even he's getting tired of it. You guys should take a break. Anyway, you have somewhere to be, Lana. Everyone else should be at the park by now. Near and I will meet you there soon. I have some paperwork from the hospital to finish up before we go. It shouldn't take too long, but your talking is really slowing me down."

_She really isn't going to give up, is she? She's just like her father._ The scarred woman sighed, reclining lazily in her chair as she felt herself start to cave in to Sayu's request. "I guess you're right; I must've lost track of time when I got caught up in the moment. I'll get out of your guys' hair now."

Just as she finished her sentence, a high-pitched tune began to play throughout the room. There was a click as Sayu checked her cell phone, and a few moments later she said, "Not so fast."

"Huh?"

"I just got a text. He's waiting downstairs for you right now."

Lana felt a small smile creep over her face. "Is he outside?"

The sound of fingertips tapping on keys reached her ears. "…Yeah. Should I tell him to come up?"

"No. Tell him I'll be down in a second."

"Are you sure?"

The scarred woman ignored Sayu's question. She sighed again, releasing a yawn and stretching out her arms before sitting up. "Well, I'll be off then. It's best not to keep him waiting for too long. His patience is starting to wear thin these days. I've never seen him this wound up before."

"It's probably just stress," the brunette told her, her tone comforting. "You know how guys get. Either that, or you're finally starting to rub off on him."

"Ha-ha," Lana said, her voice bitingly sarcastic, "You're hilarious, Sayu. It's a good thing Near's the way he is, otherwise he might just laugh himself to death. That might be preferable to living with you, actually."

"Oh, shut it," the young woman scoffed, an obvious smile on her lips.

Lana tentatively reached out a hand and felt the empty air beside her chair.

"Need any help?"

"No. I'm fine." _I guess I'm still just as stubborn as I always was, even after all these years_.

After barely a second of searching, the dark-haired woman found what she had brought with her. Her right hand clasped firmly on the hilt of the cane that was leaning against the table, and without much trouble she managed to stand up; she even pushed the chair back in for good measure. After that it was a fairly simple task to find the front door; many years of practice had given her the edge in maneuvering her way through a building, especially one that was so familiar. Now she even possessed the uncanny ability to form a rough layout of Sayu's flat in her mind. Though the place was spacious—only the best home for the Chief of Medicine at Winchester's most prestigious hospital, she supposed—Lana felt that she had a pretty good grasp on finding her way around.

The young brunette called out to her one last time as she grabbed ahold of the doorknob.

"I know I ask you this every time you come here, but will that cane be enough to help you get downstairs? It's not that I don't have faith in you, but…"

Lana couldn't help but smirk at her question. "Of course it will. I'm used to it. Walking's not the same as fighting, but I like to think I'm pretty damn good at both. Besides, you should know by now that I never take the elevator, Sayu."

With that, the door clicked shut behind her. She made it downstairs in record time, and she didn't even stumble once throughout her trek. Like she had said before, she was used to it; the ins and outs of everyday life didn't faze her anymore. As a matter of fact, stairs were child's play compared with what else she could do. Lana liked to think that she had grown quite capable throughout the decade she'd spent in Winchester.

But that didn't matter right now, she reminded herself. She was a busy woman, after all; she had a lot to do today.

She felt his eyes on her as soon as she exited the building, his gaze as intense and searching as it always was. It was always how she recognized him; his presence was very distinctive. Without saying anything she began to walk towards what she assumed was his direction.

_No, not assume_, she thought. _I know he's there_. If nothing else, at least the dark-haired woman could rely on her instincts. "You haven't been waiting long, have you?" she asked. "Sayu just told me you were down here." She felt it as they came face-to-face, him taking the few necessary steps to bring them close enough to feel each other's breath on their skin. It caused a warm pit to form in her stomach.

"Not at all," he replied, "though I do continue to wonder why you refuse to let me help you. It can be quite dangerous for you to get around."

Lana couldn't help but to laugh. "Are you kidding me? You do know what I do for a living, right?"

"Yes, but it's not the same as walking through a crowded city by yourself. There is any number of accidents that could occur."

"Well, well," she gasped in mock surprise. "Is the great L trying to say that he's worried about me?"

"I would appreciate it if you did not use that name in public."

"Don't worry. There's no one else around."

"…I would also appreciate it if you didn't mock me, but even so I must admit that you are correct. Is it wrong for me to worry about you?"

Lana guffawed heartily before resuming the conversation. "Of course not. It's just...I never get tired of hearing you say it, that's all."

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, and the scarred woman could sense him leaning closer. But, as always, the moment ended too soon, and L pulled back out of what she guessed was concern for displaying affection in public. He still couldn't get over his overbearing attachment to privacy, not that Lana could blame him after learning about the life he lead. She tried to get back on topic, for both of their sakes.

"Hey, speaking of worry…where's Mel?" she asked, concerned when she remembered their conversation from earlier. "I thought you told me that you were going to look after her today. What happened?"

She heard the shuffling of feet before L responded. "As it turns out, I am an inept babysitter for that girl. She nearly destroyed all the breakable items in the house. I left her with her mother."

Lana resisted the urge to face palm. "Aw, man. What happened this time? You know what—scratch that. Don't tell me. I'll find out when we get there, anyway. Let's go." Her cane tapped against the cement as she breezed past the detective, but he didn't follow her right away.

"Are you certain you wish to walk?" he asked. "The park is about two miles from here. If you prefer, I can drive."

"There's no need," she said, turning back around to face him. She heard his footsteps as he walked up to her, and she could feel his hand dangling a mere inch from her unoccupied one. "I want to walk, anyway. It's a beautiful day, and I'm sure you could use the sunlight."

"I'm afraid you have no basis for accusing me of being pale."

"Oh, shut it," she laughed. "We're going to be late."

* * *

L watched her silently as they walked. He still paid attention to their surroundings, but he also wanted to use this opportunity to observe her as well. It wasn't as though he didn't do that enough already, but it seemed that he never got tired of it. He could understand why, given their history and how remarkable this woman was. He never ceased to be impressed by Lana's confident stride, or by the way she seemed to harbor no insecurities due to her blindness. On the contrary, she appeared in all walks of life to be even more confident than she was before. It was as if she wanted to prove herself as being more capable now that her vision was gone; he understood this well enough, and he couldn't blame her for it. As a matter of fact, it made her appeal even greater.

So, not for the first time, the detective found himself staring at her. They had all changed over the ten years they had been in England, but it seemed to him that she had changed most of all, both in point of view and appearance. He rather liked her current aesthetic; whereas her hair had been wild before, a long dark mane that fell almost to her hips, now it was much shorter, styled into an almost shoulder-length cut. Originally it had been extremely short, cut nearly to the scalp but with enough hair to curl up at the nape of her neck. Recently, however, she had decided to let it grow out again. When he asked her why, she had only said one thing.

"_I'm not the same as I was before. That's reason enough, isn't it?" _

Now she even had bangs, though these were carefully cut onto only one side. Unless she was at home, they always covered her eye. Surprisingly enough, she chose to cover her newest scar rather than the pale blue eye that often sent chills up the spines of young children and adults alike. It didn't bother him, obviously; he had seen her at her worst, and nothing that had happened had made her seem any less attractive.

She had also aged quite well, he thought. Though they were still far from being old, the fact remained that they were both over thirty by this point. He thought that he looked much the same; his skin was still sallow and pale, the bags under his eyes as dark as ever. His hair was still unkempt, though Lana didn't seem to mind. While she had appeared to become brighter as the years passed, it seemed that he remained quite the same—at least on the outside. He liked to think—and so did she—that they had both changed drastically throughout the time they had known each other.

Privately, he was glad that he did.

He noticed when Lana tilted her head upwards, lifting her nose up into the air as though she were a dog. To his great amusement, the detective had found after extensive observation that she had a habit of remembering most everything she smelled. It was a strange skill—but a skill nonetheless—and he had asked her about it several times. All she said was that she could recognize many places this way. She was able to always tell where she was out of the places she knew, and whether or not she was somewhere unfamiliar. He found it to be quite impressive.

"We're here," he said as they approached the park.

"I know," she replied as they stepped onto the grass. "I can tell."

"What else can you tell?"

"Hmm…I can tell that there are other people nearby. I can hear them."

L could see them in the distance—the group of people who had been meeting them here for years. He had come to realize long ago that this ritual was something that meant a lot to Lana.

Every year since their departure from Los Angeles and their subsequent arrival in Winchester, everyone from their group would meet at this particular spot. More often than not—in the rare cases when someone was sick—they met up on the day that they touched down in the city. It was an annual celebration that held meaning for all of them; even L found it to be somewhat therapeutic, despite the fact that he had only spent a few months in L.A.

He supposed that he found it to be significant for other reasons besides survival. Yet, try as he might, though he could see those same people a few yards ahead of them, he couldn't hear what they were saying. He could only watch as someone very familiar saw them in the distance and jogged over to them.

"Good afternoon," L said in his usual monotone. "It's been a few days, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Matt responded, a casual smile on his face as he lit a cigarette. "A shame, too. I'm nearly out of my mind at this point with the case we're working on. I've got this guy's info in the database, yet I'm being told to wait before we can cuff him. You've got no idea—"

"Dad!"

L barely caught a glimpse of the little girl before she barreled into the other man; Matt stumbled on his feet, but managed to both stay upright and avoid dropping his lit cigarette on the girl's head.

"What are you doing?!" he exclaimed. "I'm holding a cigarette, Mel!"

"I don't care if you smoke, Dad, but will you help me?" the young girl asked, crossing her arms and shooting her father a pout. Her green eyes beamed up at him with mischief.

"Depends. What did you do?"

"Nothin'. Mom's being mean, though."

"Okay, then what did your mom do?"

"I didn't do a damn thing!"

Even L flinched at the crude way the large woman spoke. She approached the group with a relaxed stance, but her annoyed voice and volatile expression told another story. The detective might have even feared for the young girl's safety had he not already known the angry woman in question. He was well aware that she would never abuse her own child.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Itzel," he said politely.

"Nice to see ya, weirdo," she replied, a large grin splitting across her face. "Thanks for watching her in the morning, and, uh, sorry about earlier. Mel can get a bit aggressive at times."

"A bit?"

Itzel immediately turned her attention to Lana. "Hey there too, girly. How's it going with you?"

"I can't really complain," the scarred woman said, a snarky gleam in her pale eye. "I'm more worried about you. Are you sure you won't just drop dead of a heart attack?"

"I can't promise I won't," Itzel replied, "but I can promise to skin this little girl alive—"

"I'd like to see you try!" Mel shot back.

"Let's get out now," Lana said to him in a rushed voice; she opted to take his hand and lead them farther into the park, towards the other people who were sitting on the benches in the distance. At first he tensed at the touch of her palm, but he soon relaxed and allowed her to take the lead. He knew at this point that he could trust her.

"That girl," he said as she led them away from the feuding mother and child. Matt had conveniently escaped to the sidewalk to finish his smoke. "She's a lot like her mother."

"She is," Lana agreed. "…Does…does she look like her?"

L could see where this was going; he idly recalled that they hadn't really talked much about their unofficial goddaughter. It seemed to him as though the scarred woman had purposely avoided the subject, so he had never even brought up the issue of their own progeny. Lana probably didn't have any idea what Mel looked like. She had no idea what either of them looked like…

"Melisandra looks a great deal like Itzel," he told her. "She has the same hair color, and her skin is only a few shades lighter. However, she also shares many traits with Matt. She has a similar facial structure to his, and also shares many features, such as green eyes. Unlike her mother, she has smooth hair."

"Green eyes? Really? Like Matt's?" Lana gasped softly. "She must be pretty. And with her attitude, I see a lot of future conflict with the other kids at school. I'm sure Mello would be proud." The scarred woman laughed quietly.

"I don't doubt it," the detective agreed.

A few moments passed before she spoke again, this time with a melancholy undertone. "I don't know why I never bothered to ask about this before. I guess it was because I thought it wouldn't matter to me. Itzel's never tried to tell me about it before, either. All I hear people around me say is how cute she is. I can't believe it. Six years and I've never even asked about what she looked like, not to mention my own…" The scarred woman trailed off, and L had a pretty good idea of what she was going to say next.

But before she had a chance to ask, someone else joined them. He was light on his feet, and the detective knew enough to tell that even Lana had not noticed his approach.

He decided to not say anything.

* * *

Lana felt that they were getting closer to the others; she could hear the volume of their chattering increase as her and L approached, but this did not take her mind off of the question she wanted to ask. It was ridiculous that she even felt apprehensive about it; it was probably just because she felt foolish for even avoiding the subject in the first place. Either way, she wanted to know.

"L…" she said, squeezing his hand a bit harder, "what does our—" She stopped in her tracks when she felt another hand tugging at her pant leg. This hand was much smaller than the one she was holding, soft and void of callouses like his father's, and at his touch a small smile broke out on her face.

"Hey, Mom!" the young boy said excitedly. "It's me. Can you tell?"

"Of course I can," she said, feigning an affronted tone. "What do you take me for?"

"You can always tell," he said, slight disappointment in his voice. "I can never surprise you, even on your birthday."

The scarred woman only relinquished her hold on L to playfully ruffle the boy's hair; he pointedly tried to avoid her hand, much to the woman's amusement. "That's because I'm a ninja. Didn't your dad tell you?"

"Dad said you were a teacher!"

"Well, in a manner of speaking," L chimed in.

"Dad!"

"I didn't lie to you, did I? Your mother is actually very good at what she does—"

"That's enough,_ Dad_," Lana guffawed. "You're only going to give him ideas."

"I highly doubt that such an inconsequential statement will have any effect—"

"You'd be surprised at how much kids listen to their parents, even when it doesn't seem like it. For example—Al, where were you today?"

"Hmmm…" The boy trailed off for a few seconds, but just like before, he answered with a confident enthusiasm that even made Lana's annoyance subside. "Watari and I hung out all day. He picked me up from school early and dropped me off here with the others."

"See?" Lana said jokingly. "He's already turning into you."

"That's exactly what he said!" Al exclaimed before his father had a chance to reply. "He told me that if I keep spending all my free time at Wammy's then I'd have to move in with the other kids. Can he really make me do that?"

_It looks like he understands the subtleties of sarcasm as much as his father does_. Lana resisted the urge to laugh at her son's melodramatic reaction. And, much to her surprise, she heard L release a chuckle from beside her.

"Do you want to move in?" he asked.

Al took a moment to answer; the dark-haired woman could hear his feet shuffling in the grass. "Not really," he concluded. "I want to stay with you guys. And if I left, I wouldn't get to see you, or Uncle Matt or Aunt Itzel. The other kids at Wammy's don't get to see their parents, and I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."

* * *

Lana ended up taking a seat on one of the benches; she was content to listen to the sound of the kids playing. Matsuda, to her eternal gratitude, kept them both occupied while the other adults talked. Since he and Misa had no kids of their own—yet, she reminded herself—he was more than happy to look after theirs. The scarred woman could hear the perpetually silly man yell wildly as he chased Mel and Al, and it even managed to put a smile on her face.

In the meantime, she tried to tune out the sound of Misa talking excitedly over both Mogi and Aizawa.

Itzel and Matt were also standing nearby, having resolved the crisis between mother and daughter. All it took was a cigarette break to right their family structure once again. Even so, Lana could still tell by their playful whispers that theirs was one of the strongest she had ever encountered. The pair seemed to compliment each other fairly well; Matt, with his seemingly infinite patience and cool head, was the perfect candidate to temper the flames of Itzel's exuberant personality. He was one of the few men who didn't have a problem with her the way she was—erratic behavior and all. Well, it was everyone else's loss, Lana reasoned; Itzel was quite a catch once you got past her brusque exterior. It showed in how much the kids at Wammy's adored her, on the rare occasions that Lana was able to visit her at work.

Absentmindedly, she tightened her hold on L's hand, and he responded in kind. She couldn't help the warmth that blossomed in her chest at his touch.

_How did I get so lucky?_ On some days, she still couldn't believe that she was here, that she had people in her life that made her feel complete—as if none of the tragedies of her past had ever occurred. On other days, she even felt that her memories had all been some sort of nightmare concocted by a frightened mind. This mostly happened during the middle of the night, when she woke up with a pounding headache and empty eyes full of bloodied, traumatic images. L tried to comfort her in his own way, but Lana still couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a bad dream.

She didn't like to think that way. She didn't want to forget it—any of it, even the bad parts.

"So," she tried again, deciding to move on to healthier topics, "I never got to finish my question."

"Go ahead."

"…What does our son look like? I can tell a lot by holding him—he has shaggy hair, just like you, and he's skinny as a rail. But it's still not the same as being able to see his face. If…if there's one thing I hate about being this way, it's that." She felt some of the tension drain from her muscles when the pressure on her hand increased. The sounds of conversation around them dimmed, until all that was left were his breathing patterns and the distant playful cries of her goddaughter and son.

"In terms of appearance," L began, "I would say that he looks more like me. He does share some features with you—your nose, for example. But for the most part, your description is apt. His hair is as dark as mine, as are his eyes—but there is one other thing that I am certain he inherited from you."

"And what would that be?"

"…His spirit, and his extroverted personality."

Lana couldn't stifle the laugh that escaped her throat. "Are you kidding me? He's so much like you that he's practically a carbon copy. I wouldn't even believe he's mine if I hadn't pushed him out myself."

L shifted a bit at her crude analysis. "That may be what you think, but I have noticed something much different. He may look like me and have my affinity for deductive reasoning, but he reminds me much more of you."

"How do you figure?" The scarred woman turned her head as she heard her son exclaim in unrestrained glee a few yards away, and she reasoned that L was probably watching him as they spoke. In her own way, so was she.

"He is not as reserved as I was at that age, for one thing," the detective began. "He is far more outgoing in terms of social situations. Whenever I am with him, I notice it more and more. He possesses an inherent ability to breathe life into an otherwise dull atmosphere—at least while he is in a pleasant mood. If not, it branches out into everyone else.

"His curiosity also deserves mentioning. He always wants to know more, and on several occasions he has refused to abandon his search for answers to the questions he asks. He's very open about what he wants to know, whereas I had always endeavored to find the answers myself. In a way, I do believe his method is more effective; he doesn't reject the help of others, nor does he think that he is more intelligent than them—even if, as I suspect, it is true.

"However, the one aspect of his personality that I find most astounding is his determination. He attacks all of his interests with a vigor that I never outwardly displayed. He has the courage and the inner strength to do so without ever doubting himself or the people around him. To many it may seem as though he is simpleminded, never considering the negative consequences of his actions—but I believe that it's the opposite. I believe that he does notice the bad there is in the world, but he continues on in his endeavors anyway." Lana felt L lean closer; she was certain that his face was no more than a mere inch from hers.

"Now," he said, his tone jaunty, "do any of the traits I just mentioned remind you of anyone?"

* * *

By the end of the night, Lana was exhausted. Though she spent the majority of it sitting and talking with L, she also spent a considerable amount catching up with the others. It had been almost a year since she had seen some of them—Aizawa and Mogi, mostly. Those two had been overly busy ever since they became certified police officers again. As for Matsuda, he had decided to aim for running his own bar after settling down with Misa. He had started out as a low-key bartender—big surprise, the scarred woman thought with a grin—and after a few years of he and the blonde woman saving up all their money, they finally procured enough to buy the place. L had offered to help them, but they had stubbornly refused any outside help.

Lana couldn't blame them for wanting a quiet life after all that they had endured; both Matsuda and Misa deserved it. Unfortunately, due to their paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle, they rarely had the means to make it all the way across the city to hang out casually. This day of the year was always the exception, though; come rain or shine, money or not, they would make the trek without fail every year.

Matt and Itzel were their constant companions; the two of them lived only a few blocks way from her and L, so they saw each other frequently. Mel and Al were practically inseparable, and despite the injuries her son would often sustain from roughhousing with the young girl, he never seemed to harbor any grudges. He said getting beat up made him stronger.

Lana laughed aloud as she recalled his words; she felt much the same. Maybe what L had said earlier held some clout after all.

As for Sayu and Near, the dark-haired woman wasn't quite sure what was going on between them. They lived together in Sayu's flat, and she was currently paying for part of his college tuition; he was supposed to graduate this year. But beyond that, Lana didn't know the extent of their relationship. It could be that they had just found kindred spirits in each other; they _had _both lost their entire families. Well, technically, so had she, but Lana no longer counted herself as being a part of that unfortunate category.

Now, she had a family—a family that she had built herself. She couldn't ask for much more than that.

In any case, as it always did, the sun eventually set, and the kids as well as the adults grew tired. She could sense exhaustion creep up on the others as the conversation between them all lagged; the air grew colder, and Lana knew that if she were able to see she would be witnessing the sun pull away towards the sinking horizon. Even the kids' footsteps began to slow, and Matsuda had already rejoined them a while ago.

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that the time had passed so quickly. One could only spend so long reminiscing.

"It's getting late," L informed her just as the first evening chill blew across her face. "Do you want to go home? As I recall, you've got work tomorrow, and I am currently working on a case."

An indolent grin spread across her features. "Yeah…" she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "We've got a lot of stuff to do, don't we? You're right. Let's go—but let me say goodbye to the others first."

"If you insist. We'll leave in twenty minutes, then."

* * *

"He always does this," L observed, his tone peculiar as he attempted to unlock the front door. "Can you hold him, please? I'm afraid I can't unlock the door while carrying him."

"Are you sure you trust me?" Lana laughed as she gingerly took her son from his father, clutching him so tightly that she thought he would break.

"…I do trust you. You are used to carrying him by now."

She held Al's limp body with her unoccupied hand, allowing his head to loll against her chest; she couldn't restrain an amused snort. "You can't really be surprised, can you? He's five. Apart from you, apparently, there isn't a kid in the world who hasn't fallen asleep in the car. I know I did…so did my brother."

"How strange," L mused; somehow, Lana got the feeling that he wasn't referring to his son's behavior—nor did he even hear what she had just said.

The lock finally clicked, and the trio entered the house quickly so as to escape the bitter cold outside. They immediately went towards Al's room, and L stood in the doorway as the scarred woman placed the young boy in his bed. As he watched, she ran a soothing hand through his shaggy hair, brushing it out of his face and rabidly storing the mental picture in the back of her mind. It helped, but not as much as she wanted it to.

Eventually Lana turned back around and walked out of the room; L reflexively grabbed ahold of her wrist as she walked past, and the two made their way towards their own room at the end of the hall. He only let go once they were inside, and Lana instantly began to unwind from the day's trials; she set her cane down as L closed the door behind them, and slipped out of her shoes with a relieved sigh.

"You would think one would not be able to sleep so soundly while in a moving vehicle," the detective mused as the dark-haired woman stripped off her jacket. "He's very trusting."

Lana snorted. "Are you still stuck on that, _Lawliet_?" she teased him, turning away as she unbuttoned her shirt; she made sure that she was facing the wall. "It's because he's tired. And, like you said, he trusts us. Of course he has no problem with it."

When L didn't reply, the woman paused in her movements. She heard him get up from the bed, and his footsteps increased in intensity as he came closer.

"What are you doing?"

Again, he didn't answer, and Lana drew her shirt closed around her midriff as he came around and stood in front of her. "You said he trusts us," he said. "Like the way I trust you to hold him, or how I trust you with knowing my name—and the way you trust me to lead you."

"Um…yeah. What are you getting at?" Lana tensed as L raised his hands to her torso, dipping the tips of his fingers beneath the fabric of her shirt. Though he tried to pull it apart, the scarred woman held it firmly in her grip.

"You do this every night," he told her. "You always turn around while you undress. Why is that?"

His seemingly innocent question—which Lana knew full well was a front—pierced her carefully plated armor. _You know why_, she thought. _You know it hurts to see it_. "Why do you keep trying to do this to yourself? It's not the first time you've brought it up. It doesn't hurt me anymore; I don't have to look at it. You do. Sex is different…you don't look at my stomach that much. But if I can avoid making you see it entirely, I will."

"It's all but vanished anyway. It is hardly noticeable."

"Can you still see it?"

"…Yes."

"Then why are you complaining? Do you like looking at my scar? Does it make you feel _good _to remember how your previous successor mutilated me?"

"…Is that what you think?"

"It's true. Why do you think I hide my scar? It's one thing to show my other one—the one my mother gave me. That ended up being what saved my life. But this one? I can't see it, but the fact that I know other people can doesn't sit right with me. I thought you of all people would understand."

"I do understand. But I also know that you should not have to hide it from others, especially me. In my experience, harboring shame over one's body when in the presence of his or her partner is detrimental to both emotional and mental health, and can even have physical ramifications which—"

"I'm not ashamed," Lana interjected, her voice stern. "I'm not."

"Then why do you insist on hiding it?"

"I already told you! I don't want to put you through the pain of remembering. I swear…I just don't want you to blame yourself."

"And _you_ should know, Lana Turk, that I will do no such thing. I believe we've been over this already—don't you trust me?"

Immediately, the scarred woman felt some of the tension in the room ease; a languid grin crept over her face, and the stiff hands that held her shirt together loosened slightly.

"Of course…and don't _you_ trust _me_, L Lawliet?"

"…Yes. I suppose I do."

"Your understanding of sarcasm is getting better," she observed. "Listen…I understand how you feel. I really do, and I know that you feel the same way. I've kept doing this for so long not only because of myself, but because I thought it was best for you. All the other times we fought about it…I guess I didn't take it as seriously as I should have. I'm sorry."

"What made you change your mind?"

Lana played with her fingers, idly considering his question. "I don't know. Experience, maybe. Knowing that you aren't that petty. It always did take some time for certain things to get through my thick skull." The woman sighed. "So…if you feel that strongly about it, then you win. I won't hide it from you anymore."

She accepted his silence as an answer, and leaned forward slightly to press her lips to his. Years of practice had made it so that she was rather adept at figuring out the contours of his face—in particular where his mouth was, so she no longer looked like a fool when she tried to kiss him. Indeed, she no longer felt like a fool either—not with the way L responded to her. He slid off her unbuttoned shirt, allowing the fabric to pool on the floor at their feet. In a way, Lana felt as though she had been foolish to ever be concerned about how L might treat her in regards to her disabilities and scars, both mental and physical. That timid embarrassment didn't carry over to their current activities, thankfully. He wouldn't even think of bringing it up now, she thought with a snarky grin.

"What is it?" he asked against her mouth, the subtle vibrations causing her head to hum pleasantly.

"Nothing," she told him. "Nothing's wrong."

And this time, she meant it.

She allowed L to lead her towards their bed; they broke away from each other only so they could sit in a more comfortable position. Lana pushed against him, trying to gain control over the ebb and flow of their bodies as she settled down in his lap. She bit his lip gently, and without saying anything he parted them. Her hips undulated against his, her legs splayed on either side of him as she continued to try to get closer.

It was strange, Lana thought curiously as her body—and his—began to heat up. Sex had transformed into a completely different action over the past few years, not only in terms of execution, but meaning. Whereas before it had been a dreaded act only performed in exchange for something of value, and then an expression of love, now it held a meaning she personally found to be far deeper. It was refreshing.

Love, she had realized, was not the be-all and end-all of her life—at least not in the traditional sense. It was a fleeting, curious thing, a type of passion that more often than not mellowed out into a comfortable companionship with time—if it didn't diminish first. What she had with L hadn't disappeared, but it had definitely changed, the scarred woman thought as their clothes were discarded; skin slid over naked skin, burning beneath her flesh as L's hands ran over her newly-exposed body.

Even after everything, his touch still burned like fire, and his nails still set off sparks within her as he pressed impossibly close. The physical passion hadn't died—if anything, it seemed to have grown stronger—but the emotional connection had changed. It had become something wholly new to her, something that Lana honestly thought she would never experience.

It was comfortable. It was passionate, even if it wasn't the fairytale romance many people fantasized about. It was never fleeting, never absent, and it never left her feeling unfulfilled or unwanted—unneeded.

It was family.

Besides Al, L was the closest person to her. As much as she loved Itzel, Matt, and all the others, the bond she shared with them wasn't quite the same. But the ones she shared with her family, L in particular, felt like home, and within the confines of said home Lana could almost believe that the tragedies that had befallen her didn't sting as much. She still thought about them, still remembered them with frequent pangs of depression, but she no longer harbored the feelings of constant despair that used to plague her every day. She hoped—no, she _knew_—that L felt the same way.

She could sense it in his touch as his hand grazed over her stomach and hipbone, leaving flutters in her belly. She could tell by the way they gently lowered themselves to the sheets, with him hovering above her so as not to cause her any discomfort. She could sense it in the heated gaze she instinctively knew was focused on her. She could feel it in the somnolent motions of their bodies as he entered her, and she clutched him to her with as strong a grip as possible.

Lana sighed repeatedly as he rocked against her, and she tried to meet his unhurried movements halfway. She lived for moments like this, she thought, when all she had to focus on was his burning caresses and the pleasure brought forth by them. There were simpler pleasures in her life as well, but nothing beat the pure closeness she felt when they were together. Not being able to see, while many would consider it a downside, lent its own merit to the experience; to her, it felt as though all of her other senses had been heightened. Her tactile and olfactory ones went into overdrive, and in many ways she preferred this singularly special activity all the more for it. She understood now why humans closed their eyes when they kissed or embraced passionately; it made the other person seem that much closer to them, and never before had anyone else affected her the way that L did, with wandering fingers that ignited a tempestuous flame in the pit of her stomach. Experience had made him able to bring out the deepest depths of their lust, and she couldn't have been more thankful for it. As he slipped in and out of her, Lana could tell that she wouldn't last much longer.

"L," she whispered, digging her ankles into his lower back as his mouth clamped down on her throat. To her utter shock, he slowed down, and the built-up tension in her lower stomach began to ache earnestly at his neglect.

_Bastard_, she thought playfully.

"_Lawliet_."

As it turned out, her utterance of his name—the one he kept so carefully hidden from the public eye—was all the encouragement he needed. He sped up his thrusts, lifting the backs of her knees as he did so. Lana groaned, releasing her stifled cries into the rom until her peak finally crashed over her like a tidal wave. Ripples of pleasure spread throughout her body, liquefying her limbs and causing her to rest her head tiredly against L's shoulder. He stiffened against her, his body vibrating for a moment before he lied down beside her. She curled into him as though he were her only source of warmth.

And maybe, Lana thought with a lazy smile, he was.

* * *

The rhythmic tapping of computer keys wasn't what woke her up, but it was the first thing she heard when she did. What brought her back to consciousness was the empty feeling in the mattress space next to her, and the pronounced chill of early morning. The space at the foot of the bed sank a bit, and hearing the click of a keyboard issuing from that region alerted her to what L was doing.

"Still working on that case, huh?" she muttered sleepily, sitting up in bed and shivering when the blankets pooled around her naked waist. She felt L's eyes on her, and she smirked at the realization that yes, she had slept without clothes on last night. She still felt a bit strange revealing her stomach to him so casually, but she wasn't going to let that get her down today.

"Yes," the detective responded. "I have been working since you fell asleep. If all goes as planned, then I will have caught the culprit today."

"Good," she said cheerfully, rubbing her eyes to remove the stubborn exhaustion. "I have to get ready for work. What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock."

The scarred woman sighed. "Fuck."

* * *

"Teacher! Mel's cheating!"

_I swear to God, if one more kid complains about cheating, I'm going to turn this whole damn place upside down. It's a martial art, for Christ's sake! _She knew she never would, though; she loved her job—most of the time.

"What's the problem?" she said instead, adjusting her gi as she strode over to the source of the noise.

The child who had called her over—a young girl by the name of Christianne—shuffled her bare feet on the mat. "She keeps attacking me before we've shaken hands," she said. "She says it's not cheating, but I don't think it's fair."

_Is that all?_ Lana grinned in amusement. "Mel," she said in a monotone. "Come here." She heard the girl shuffle closer, and the scarred woman bent down so as to be closer to what she assumed was eye level. "Mel," she began, "do you know why your parents send you here, to my dojo?"

"So you can teach me how to win fights," the little girl replied confidently. "Mom said that you're the best. Come on, Auntie—cut me some slack, will ya?"

Lana sighed in frustration. "First of all, that's not the reason," she said matter-of-factly. "Your parents send you here so that you can learn how to defend yourself. Martial arts don't exist for the sole purpose of exerting power over your opponent. To me, they're a form of discipline and, in many cases, a mode of survival." She paused. "That being said, there's no such thing as cheating in real life. You either live or you don't. You win or you lose. But the only types of people who strike first, without provocation, are the ones who cannot handle the possibility of failure. They act like cornered animals; it's a sign of weakness. Do you understand?"

If she had to guess, Lana would have said that Mel was sheepish; she didn't voice a word of protest, which was unusual for the spunky girl—unless, as the scarred woman suspected, she knew that she was wrong.

"That was well said."

L's calm tenor sounded above all the other children's, and with a subtle grin Lana strode over to him. "Hey," she greeted him. "Did the case work out?"

"Yes. As I predicted, he returned to the scene of the crime. After that it was only a matter of Matt tracking him down, and we received a full confession not long after."

Lana rolled her eyes. "I expected nothing less from you. Maybe now you'll finally get some sleep tonight, then."

"Perhaps."

The two sat in companionable silence, listening to the distant sounds of sparring children. She was content to be next to him, since it was rare that he actually bothered to visit her at work; he was often too busy working on his cases, not that she didn't understand. Just like her, he had a calling; it would be unfair for her to refuse him his.

"On a different topic," he started, "I spoke with Near today. He wants to be my apprentice after he graduates."

Lana shrugged. "Of course he does. Don't tell me you didn't know; we've talked about it before. What about it?"

"I have no issue with it; with practice, he would be a suitable successor. However, at one point during our conversation, your name was mentioned. He told me that you have been dictating your story to him."

_That little brat…who does he think he is?_ "Well, since I can't write on my own, I figured he would be willing to do it for me. Is there a problem?" Inwardly, Lana cringed; she had been worried that he would find out and take an issue with her decision.

L paused for a moment before speaking, leaving the woman beside him jittery with nerves. "I just wanted to let you know that no matter what you decide to do—publish it or not—I will support it, so long as you don't use my true name, of course."

Her irritation and anxiety immediately subsided, replaced instead by a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Really?" she gasped, flabbergasted by his statement. "I thought you'd be put off by it—I know how private you are."

"Not in the slightest," he assured her. "Though I do wonder why you kept it a secret from me."

Strangely enough, this declaration made Lana feel both guilty and jubilant. For so long she had been worried about what L would think of her decision; she honestly thought he would be against it, that he would consider it a violation of his privacy rights. Even if she decided not to publish it, she still believed that it wouldn't sit right with him to leave those handwritten documents sitting around for prying eyes to read. Knowing that he had no problem with it took a huge weight off of her shoulders, but more than that, it also made her excited to see what the future would hold.

_I guess we still have a lot to learn about each other._

"How did I get so lucky?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. "It's so strange…I feel like this isn't even real sometimes. This life, I mean. Even though it's been ten years, I still often feel as though this is a happy dream I've been living in. I have everything I ever wanted, even if I had no idea back then what it was. How can that be?"

It took a while for L to respond, but what he told her then would stay with her for years to come.

"Because back then you had nothing," he told her. "As I'm sure you know, there are some people in this world who can never be satisfied; they want everything to be theirs, and when they don't have it they are miserable. However, most of the time what they really need to be happy is to understand the feeling of having nothing. I find that it gives people perspective."

"People who want everything don't understand how it feels to have nothing," she whispered. "I think I get it." At that, Lana's eyes welled up, but she hurriedly wiped the traitorous tears away. "Maybe you're right."

"_Teacher_!"

The scarred woman groaned, then promptly leaned up and placed an affectionate kiss on L's lips. "I have to go," she said. "I'll be done soon, though. Mind waiting for me? We can go pick up Al from school later."

"Unlike you, I have exceptional patience," L responded.

Lana laughed as she walked away, her mind still musing over what he had just told her.

It was true, she thought as she demonstrated several different sweeps for her students. People who want everything don't understand how it feels to have nothing. But for her, a person who had lost so much, _everything_ seemed like too much to have. She was content with the way her life was now—as humble as it was, since she adamantly refused to live a pampered life—and didn't dare to dream of anything bigger. Anything more seemed frivolous, and that was the last word she wanted to associate with herself.

This was truly all she needed: a family, friends, and a place she could call home. She would never forget what had happened, and that was how she wanted it to stay. As messed up as her life had been, she wouldn't change a single thing about it; it was a moot point, anyway. L was her rock, and she would make sure to take advantage of every moment she had with him—because she never knew when it would end. But, at the same time, she had other obligations in her life as well; if she no longer had him, she would be able to get along.

She had to.

And so, this was why, as she continued to teach her students, she refused to give into temptation and dart back over to where L was sitting to plant a sloppy kiss on his mouth. That could wait. She had waited seven whole years for him to find her, after all.

She could wait a little longer.

**FIN**

* * *

**Wow. I feel so empty inside now that I've finished it…I mean, I have another story to work on, but I really love this one because it's my first long story and an AU. **

** Anyway, many thanks to all of those who reviewed this story. In particular I'd like to thank WildfireDreams and WhiteLadyDragon. You two were my first reviewers! A big shout out to version15 and garnet86 as well, whose reviews never failed to put a smile on my face. RaspberryDiamonds, CainToYourAbel, and leedleleedlelawliet—you guys are awesome too! I apologize if I've missed anyone, but rest assured I still appreciate you reading forty chapters' worth of my writing! You guys stuck with this story—and Lana—until the very end, and just getting to post this chapter makes it worth it. I don't know if I'll ever get around to posting any side stories for this AU, though I've thought about it. I guess we'll see, won't we? **

** Well, I guess this is goodbye…for now. And, as always, thanks for reading :)**

** —Vicious Ventriloquist**


End file.
